


In my Defense I wasn't supposed to be around this long

by Living_Fast



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: -Technoblade, -Wilbur, ??? - Freeform, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Animal Instincts, Animal Traits, Anxiety, Baby things??, Babyblade, Big Sorry there, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Captain Sparklez is Tubbos Dad, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Confusion, Constellations, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Demi God Dream, Demigods, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Hybrid Philza Minecraft, Dragons, EVery BOdy GEts to Be Sad, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff and Angst, Fuck canon?, Gen, Get Pete a Tag 2021, God Possession, Gods, Good Schlatt, He is good dad, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Philza, I am full of rage, I be small, I don't know, I don't know what this is., I hate it, I really don't, I'm thinking along the lines of, Injury, Lore - Freeform, Lore I don't understand, Magic, Memory Loss, Minecraft, Murder, New Scars, Nicknames, Non-Binary Eret, Non-binary character, Non-traditional SBI, Not really mentioned, Old Gods, Old scars, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade, Possession, Potions, Sad Dave | Technoblade, Scars, Separation Anxiety, So much Lore, Stars, Swords, Technobaby, Technoblade angst, The second Chapter is not as happy as I thought it would be, Tired Wilbur Soot, To all you bitches who thought the first chapter wasn't angsty enough, Toddler close, Toddlers, Tommy Innit and Wilbur Soot are silbings, Trans Character, Trans Floris | Fundy, Unhappy Ending, Wilbur POV, Witches, You wanna try me, and tired, angry gods, axes, bullshit, fuck man, get with the times AO3, hybrid techno, i think, i think???, im so sorry, it's a soft fic despite the tags, man, mentions of murders, mentions of possession, mutual feelings, no beta we die like men, oh fuck, petnames, small child - Freeform, take this please, the second chapter is hell, this thing hates me, um, why is that still not a tag, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Fast/pseuds/Living_Fast
Summary: Long before the people began to rule themselves. There were Gods who took what they wanted, and that killed who they pleased. Gods that spoke a dialect that’s scratched into the blade of one’s swords.And beneath these Wars, and Murders of these Gods where a people, people that abandoned structures in search of others, people who wrote books in ruins, people who chattered and worshipped. People who believed so fiercely in the Gods that Massacured their Kingdoms, spilled their people’s blood between mountains.But the People worshiped. And then one day they didn’t Alters were left cold, Leaving ruins and libraries to burn.The Gods started dying off. They were a weak group of creators. The Nether became overrun with things that did not care for them. God’s fortress gutted and looted. The people thrived without the Gods.The few Gods that were left Jumped from Vessel to Vessel in an attempt to live longer. Too frantic to stay alive they ripped through the people’s minds, left tattered remains.The Blood God chooses his Mortal Sparringly, wanted the perfect vessel, wanted to see if they would be prepared to take on the Soul of a God under his skin. Son of a King and Queen. He died under his Skin
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Niki | Nihachu, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, No Shipping you bastards, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 52
Kudos: 372





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I- can't put into words my actual hate for this fic, I'm posting it because I refuse to let 26 thousand Words go to waste after it consumed my waking hours. I didn't even edit this bull shit, that's how much I hate it.  
> Sure I adore some parts and the idea was there, but once I really got to work on it- literally nothing made me want to look at this thing again. Especially when I had other ideas for other things.  
> So have this unedited mess of a fic and I hope it holds up to what I've written before. 
> 
> Real talk-  
> If anyone in this fic expresses they want it taken down- it will come down.  
> I will not ship these characters Ever- Don't make my shit shippy, don't look at me with the stuff. It's nasty and I refuse to let it taint my fics. I watched Markiplier and Jacksepticeye put distance between them to make shippers go away. It ruins friendships don't ruin MCYT's with that shit okay. Not Cool. Don't ship Real people. It's gross. 
> 
> Alright, Second.  
> No, I have no idea how children work- I am a 16-year-old, I don't even Like Children. And no I have no idea how to write females, I had no idea how to write Niki's scenes; I am a female- why is it this hard. So apologizes upfront for both of those things. Because Damn- I've been writing pov's from males for several years now and Have never figured out women. Also, I cannot write Tommy to save my life and it's probably noticeable. 
> 
> Cool- to the ones who actually read these. Thank you- no thoughts go into my Notes, and I hope it's noticeable. 
> 
> There's a lit of things that happen in canon that don't in here  
> Uh- No boom for Manburg, Wilbur doesn't go crazy. None of that.  
> Techno still kills Tubbo- Uh yeah.  
> The Pit does not happen. No Pit  
> Umm, Quackity doesn't publicly leave Manburg he is a spy with Fundy for the sake of Plotline and I'm not familiar enough with his character to really write it.  
> I think that's it???  
> I don't know its 2 am- I planned to have this out at 12 so I could actually sleep, but here we are.

Techno shoved his hair out of his face, hissing at the lack of crown on his head. Before spinning the pickaxe in his hand and taking another hack at the wall. The Iron is particularly stubborn, and he was likely just to have to dismantle as much as possible and then melt the rest. 

Which was normally what he did, but he felt impatient. Wanted this and wanted it now. 

The creaking of the cave made his mind quiet enough that his guard slipped; the area was lit. So he wasn’t worried about something sneaking upon him. Hands aching as he grabbed at chunks of Iron, fingers bleeding as the catch on the sharp edges of the rocks. 

Puffing air out of his nose and sticking his pinky finger into his mouth with a light hiss. The blisters on his palms burned. The thought that maybe he had been down here too long, perhaps he should take a break. 

Sitting back, off his weird crouched position, and sighed. Running his thumb over the new set of blisters across his knuckles, rubbing at the one on his pointer finger somewhat hard, staring at the liquid underneath moved away from his thumb. Slightly satisfied with the way it looked before shaking his head, curls counting to flop into his eyes. 

Growling and pulling all of the strands up in a Bun, twisting the tie around his wrist around it more times than necessary. Some curls still escape, but that's normal at this rate. Some Days he is more ready to make the painstaking process of shaving it all off, and others, he loves it, loves the way it hides his face. 

The ugly marks all over it, the sharp eyes that never seem to want to be blue anymore. Which is fine. The color blue makes his skin crawl anyway. 

Crackles of noise in his ears that don’t exist, at least they haven’t existed in a long, long while. They live in his head more often than they exist in the mortal plane. He twitches, watching his reflection in the pieces of iron, coxing a fire in the furnace he set up, setting a few chunks in. 

Rubbing at his hands again before turning to gather the rest of his supply. Humming to himself- ignoring the pain as blood ran over his fingers, staining the bricks held in his palms. As he unloaded the heated Iron chunks and loaded in the new set. 

Using a knife to pick around the edges, ignoring when he isn’t paying attention to his fingers’ placement, and he nicks them. Setting them in stacks within a chest, he watches it fill as he makes trip after trip. 

  
Mechanically moving back and forth. Doing something that won’t matter, doing something that isn’t even needed. It’s not like he is planning on taking any of this anywhere. 

But it's easier to forget The loud one’s screams and His friend’s fearful face. 

Of the explosion of fireworks in his ears. 

Techno attempts to focus back on his task. Again, do it again.

The first blister to burst on his hands splatters down his wrist, on the Diamonds he just finished freeing from its incasing. He stares as blood follows; he digs into his bag; wraps the hole in his hand with a thin strip of bandage. 

And goes back to work, ticks away at the cave, and ticks away at the iron trapped in annoying casing mumble things to himself- whispers stories of dead gods into the empty cavern for only himself to hear. Fills the air with false tales of dead people and fallen rulers. 

Of stories long forgotten. 

Techno chips at the iron, chips away at stone until he can gather huge chunks into a building block, and fills another chest. Clips Diamonds to his belt and moves forward. Tacking torches to walls as he goes. Emptying his stories to air because what human wants to sit and listen to a benevolent God rant. 

He stills as the sound of footsteps curl into space. 

A wandering Witch turns the corner to stare at him, her unnatural green eyes staring him down. The two just watch the other. Techno’s bloody hands reach for his axe, which still hangs heavily from his belt. The Netherite gleaming in the small light, but she just watches him. 

Her hat dipping down, her potion bag is open at her hip. But she says nothing. 

“You tell old stories.” her voice is softer than he would have expected; it doesn’t mean his guard goes down; if anything, he tenses further. “Ones I haven’t heard in eons. Where did you learn them, _ little piglin _ ?” Techno watched as she leaned down and gathered up the mushrooms growing in between the stone’s cracks. He hardly bristled at the thinly veiled insult. 

Techno shrugged; he does not remember where he learned the stories from. Years of traveling and years of libraries far older than the words themselves made things go blurry. “Books.” he bites out instead. The old witch nods at him. 

She closes her bag but holds a bottle with a clear liquid in it. Techno watches her; years of being led around like a fool makes him nervous about what's in the bottle. 

Her kindness and words aside. Even a forsaken player, she is still an angry entity, meant to walk the lands for years and years, trapped in a fate where she will lose her mind and only remember the means to hurt. 

She holds the bottle out to him, cupping the bottom carefully. “No one deserves the fate of the old ones. Not even the greedy, not even the killers. No one deserves to be forgotten; no one deserves to walk the lands until one comes along and kills them _ little piglin. _ ” 

Techno stares at her thin figure, at her, bruised hands at her Green eyes, which remind him of his own in some ways. 

The Witch does not waver in her hold, so he reaches out and takes the Bottle. Watch his blood stain the surface, slide down the sides. Drip to the cold floors, she smiles at him. “I had a son once; he is long dead. Resigned and burned in a Witches goodbye. He was not like you. But you make me miss him.” Something cold settles in his bones. 

Her smile is not kind; it is far from kind.

He doesn’t understand why he lets her go, why he doesn’t just cut her down. She is more human than many of the people he has met these past years. It's not something that has stopped him before; he isn’t quite sure why it stops him now. 

Techno carefully attaches the potion to his belt, turns, and walks in a different direction. 

\---

The potion sits on his crafting bench; he watches it. There are no bubbles; the thing does not react to the fire or the cave’s coolness. It just sits. He does not know what it is, but her words do not leave him. Techno hasn’t been forgotten, at least not yet. 

The loud child's time will come and go, as will his smaller friend—the one with green eyes and a soft smile. The loud child’s brother reeks of death, and time runs out. Techno doesn’t think it’s the tall one's death he smells of. 

He hacks at the iron in his hands, trying to forget the conversation with the Witch. He tries to forget that his fate is to follow down a path of destruction and death. He stabs the stone, hardly watches the knife bounce off and slice a mark down the length of his arm. Blood bubbles up and over the edges; he doesn’t panic; reaches for his bag. 

He watches as his blood splatters into patterns on the ground, his boots, and his pants. He thinks of how blood falls on snow, now it falls and rests because of the coldness, how it will paint the area pink. He wraps the bandages around his arm, for once careful about the wrapping. Watch as the white stains dark red and just wrap more over it. 

Uncaps a Healing potion with his mouth, pour half of it over the bandages, watch as it colors the white and red, a bright pink. His ears twitch against his will, tracking noise that doesn’t exist—puffing air out of his nose before returning to his iron. 

Somewhere he remembers he needs food and water to function, and the chest of iron spills over. He chews on the edge of a potato and drinks half of his water bottle. His hair has fallen out of his bun, his fingers are numb, and his eyes burn. 

Something aches in his stomach and nothing burns under his skin. 

He wants to vanish into the stone walls, to just let it swallow him whole. It's not thought he often has, but when he does- it claws under his skin like a fire. Like an angry animal is snarling- ripping apart his insides in an attempt to get out. 

He breathes through his nose, leans forward, watches pink hair fall into his line of sight. And before he can even process what he is doing. He has a handful of pink curls, a knife clutched in his palm. Techno stares in mute horror as the strains fall to the stone floor. Mixing with his blood and the leftover remains of iron chunks. 

The hair that frames his face now ends just below his chin; he grabs at it gently. And then sighs, it's not something he can undo, it’s not something he can fix. He gathers the thick and long pink curls off the floor before tossing them into the fire of his furnace. Watches them turn black and dissolve into ash. 

He starts gathering his things; clipping objects to his belt with numb hands, and ties the potion next to his axe without a second thought. He picks up the stacks of iron, empties what's left of them into the chests. And latches it shut. 

\---

Techno blinks as the sun hits the edge of the cave, grabbing another ledge before climbing entirely out. Rubbing his numb hands on his pant legs and lifting his bag higher on his shoulder before walking straight through Manburg. 

Anyone who does see him looks the other way; many of the people still sport bruises. A sober reminder of a slim piece of what he is capable of. 

Placing his bag into the boat, before climbing in it himself- rowing himself away from the docks and towards Pogtopia. He still can’t feel his fingers and his arm burns. An uncertain weight in his mind, he isn’t even sure why. 

Pulling short of the land around the area, unloading the boat, and then giving it a hard kick. He watches mutely as it smashed into the other bank of the river before floating away. 

Climbing up the unofficial path that leads to Pogtopia, he watches the ground for the horse pit; he edges around the area. Before digging a hole in the softened dirt. Pushing his bag into the room and then crawling in after it. Careful not to step on it, he shakes himself off; before picking it back up and covering the hole. 

The voices that inhabit the area echo in the cave; he doesn’t remember if it's 2 or 6 people any more. He knows his boots make a clunking sound on each stone step, one that fills his ears and does a poor job covering up the people speaking. Techno also knows that they know he is coming, from the way they quiet; from the way they turn to look at him when he crosses the wooden bridge. 

The loud one says something. Techno places his bag down and just starts emptying the few things he brought back. A few bars of Iron that he just stacks carefully at the bottom of a chest. 

Their conversation starts back up; it’s careful now, quieter. As if it’s not meant for his ears, it's not like he can hear them over himself anyway. He tests the weight of the small bag on his hip before grunting softly. 

The Tall one stares at him, and he holds out the bag. The smile of a Witch makes him toss the bag; he is not offering something as precious as what she gave him; he is merely doing his task. The man blinks at him and then back down at the bag. Techno turns and goes to his potato farm. 

\---

Quackity was talking animated, loudly- the man's wings fluttering slightly. Wilbur wasn’t quite sure what he and Tommy were talking about. But by Fundy’s expression, it probably had something to do with him. Niki held a book in her lap, with Tubbo curled against her side, smiling at his friends. 

The only one unaccounted for was The Blade. Wilbur didn’t mind all that much; the man was wild and far too uncontrollable. He knew he would come back from wherever he vanished to the other day. Probably with supplies and a hollow look in his eyes. 

He tilted his head back, clutching his Guitar close. There wasn’t much else to do today besides watch and laugh.

Tommy jerked around when the familiar sound of boots connecting with the stone stairs rattled through the cave. Techno. Wilbur turned to look; the piglin didn’t announce his presence, nor did he say anything. Wilbur blinked; the man's hair was  _ short.  _

Pink curls that typically dipped to his waist gone, shorn to his chin. “Techno your hair…” Niki’s voice was soft from her place next to him. The Piglin didn’t acknowledge her, just sat, placed his bag down, and opened the chest. 

Pulling bar after bar of Iron and stacking them carefully into the chest. Wilbur glances around, “Is he bleeding?” Fundy’s voice was quiet. Tommy growled something sharp, and Wilbur shot him a look. The piglin looks like shit, shirt dirty, lacking his normal crown and cloak. His boots are stained, and his pants aren’t fairing much better. 

Wilbur turns to Niki, confusion written on her face that he knows his echoes. 

The Piglin closed the chest with a rather heavy click. Before letting out a soft grunt, a smaller bag in his hands. Which he held out to him; Wilbur watches as something flickered in Pink eyes before it was tossed to him. They rattled around painfully when they connected with his chest and hands. 

Diamonds and emeralds greet him when he opens the bag. 

Techno is gone before he can tell him thank you, the piglin swaying with each step, blood dripping to the floor in a trail behind him. 

\---

Settling in the dirt was easy; it was softer than the cold floors of the cave; easier to bury his battered and bruised hands into the earth. Careful and meticulous, row after row. He dug out potatoes and replanted the smaller ones. Humming to himself, the new cut of his hair falling into his face, there was nothing that required him to brush it out of his face. 

Digging out and replanting was muscle memory at this rate. He didn’t need to see to do this task, over and over. Pull up, shuffle down the line, and remove the next batch. Ignore the way his hands burn, and his eyes blur. Swallow down his spit, and blink a few times. Rub at his palms with his already numb fingers. Ignore the way his axe’s hilt makes a line in the dirt. 

Ignore the way it reminds him of lines in blood-stained gravel paths and screaming masses. 

Techno shifts, staring at the basket of potatoes, having run out of things to do. With burning hands, he grabs the handle. He makes his way back into the main room, coaxes a fire under this furnace, and begins the task of carefully baking, ignoring the voices at his back, ignoring the voices in his head.

Mechanically moving, until the voices at his backdrop off one by one- footsteps and retreating laughs. 

He stares at the mass of food in his hands. 

Wrapping them in cloth, and placing each back into the basket, before placing them in the cold chest. He stands, the potion clinks of his belt. His clothes stick to his skin, and his mind is alight with words that no longer make sense and days that bleed into each other. There is no one but him, him, and his mind in the expansive of this dark hole in the ground. 

It's not new. 

He climbs the stairs, numbs at his palms, and ignores the pit in his stomach. The tall one-  _ Wilbur _ stands curled over a book in the entrance. He looks up, meeting Techno’s eyes for a split second before Techno looks away sharply. “Why did you cut it?” 

Techno shrugs, let a small grunt pass his lips- but says nothing more. It’s almost the same as the Witch staring him down in the cave. Instead, this time, a boy is acting older than he is with soft brown eyes instead of clever green ones. He pulls at the soil around the wall, hands burning with each movement; he relishes the pain. The way it wakes up his mind. “You know you can stay, right?” Techno ignores his words and continues to pull the dirt away. 

_ Wilbur _ sighs loud enough it rocks something in him; Techno turns to look at him before he climbs through. Watch the way his pink and red eyes reflect in the lenses of the others' glasses. See’s the edges of his reflection, the flickering of the colors. Brown eyes are tired and just a little hollow. “You don’t want me to stay,  _ Soot _ .” 

\---

Techno’s retreating form slips between trees in such a fluid way it's almost scary. He watches him vanish in the night. The only thing he leaves behind him is a small pool of blood on the stone floors. Sometimes it’s like the Piglin doesn’t exist, and he’s simply a thing the people of Pogtopia made up to make them feel better. But then the echo of the man moving through the farm reminds him he does exist. If only to simply be a Ghost. 

He thinks that the piglin could vanish into the night, and none of them would notice for days, possibly weeks. Wilbur furrows his eyebrows, would they? The next time Tommy would get into trouble and need help out, The Blade was always just a call away. The man would slip away, and they would never know until they need him. 

The taste of that on his tongue burns. 

Wilbur shoves his bangs out of his face, feeling much too old for 24. He replaces the dirt covering the hole and climbs back down into the main hall of Pogtopia, smiling at the light giggles from both Tommy and Tubbo, passing the door to the room to two shares, knocking softly on the door. A hush falls over the room before Tommy’s head pokes out. Blond hair falling in his face, and blue eyes peering up at him. “Go to bed. You cretins.” 

Tommy’s offended Shriek was loud enough to have Niki poking her head out of her little room. Sleepy eyes were glaring down at them. 

He smiles sheepishly at her before ruffling Tommy’s hair and shoving his gently back into the room. “I’m serious. Go to sleep.” Before reaching in and closing the door. Smiling at Tommy’s muted yelled, and Tubbo’s laughter. 

\---

Techno places the Potion in his ender chest, watches the thing devour it into the void. He knows that if he sticks his numb hand into the dark expansion, it will lay his items out gently. His lips twitch at the slight before he closes it, completely watching as it latches the lock on its own. 

He stands in the expansion of his tiny water cave, with the groans of the walls and the shimmer of the enchantment ruins carved into the sides make his eyes hurt. He thumbs at his books, nothing here for him to do, nothing he left for him to understand- or speak about. 

No one to overhear the whispered tales of dead Gods. No one there to listen to a cursed prophet, cursed vessel. He rubs his thumb across the large bandages on his arm. Puffs air through his nose and sits on the edge of his bed. 

The bottle mocks him; her words mock him. 

As if he was supposed to understand the tells of a being far older than he. 

He lays down, curls his battered and blood hands over his ears, trying fruitlessly to block out noises that live in his head rather than populate the living realm. Sleep does not come easy. Rest is not meant to come easy. 

\---

Techno passes out, curled on his side- like a small child. With his knees pulled to his chest. Still wearing his boots, shirt and pants still stained with his blood, dirt, and coal. In the morning or afternoon, when he wakes, he will stare at the streaks it leaves on his dark blue comforter that he hates the sight of. 

He won’t change it for the fact he wishes to punish himself for age-old crimes. 

And perhaps the only way to do that now is to paint the area in a color he hates. 

\---

The potion gets knocked around in his mind for days, lost in spins of other junk, things that don’t matter, and things that do. But the thing stays tied to his belt every morning, along with everything else. His hands haven’t improved, they still bleed at the lightest touches, and he can hardly wield his axe with the state of his arm. The gash is healing slowly and painfully. 

Something in him is mildly indifferent at the sight of it. 

He can’t do much of anything to help it move along, and he doesn’t feel like wasting any more healing potions on it. It’s not that it's infected; at least he doesn’t think it is. 

Techno pushes his hair back, hissing when the strains get caught up in his blisters. Ignoring the few looks, it gets him as he flexes his hands. The bruised and bloodstains were standing out against his already scarred palms. White spider webs that stretch across them- as if to offend him. 

He swallows and attempts to hear the people around over the screaming in his ears, knowing that if he doesn’t pay attention, the plan will fall apart again. He’s vital but not useful- not when he can’t hear them half the time. 

Eyes turn towards him, and something settles in the pit of his stomach. He focuses his gaze on the far wall, digs his pointer finger into the busted blister on his right hand. Grunts slowly. Someone huffs out a laugh, just loud enough the scream quiets for a second, just there that his eyes flicker over to the Foxes face before back to the wall. 

There is no pattern to the smooth expanse, and he’s reminded of something that is just a little blurry, of icy walls- and soft laughs. Of cold floors and warm fires. He chases after the thought and watches it slip between his fingers like water. 

Burns his fingers, leaves angry marks like Lava will, and slashes through his person. In thick swipes, someone crashes into his side; a grunt escapes him before he can stop it. Stumbling just a step back. 

Before losing his footing over a chair leg, his eyes widen as the body against him lets out a quiet scream, the two crashing to the floor. His mind blinks to the potion about to be crushed and grabs at it with his hand. Before the ground connects with his back. The bottle was shattering in his palm. 

The clear liquid is his only concern; he pushes off the lanky body. Ignoring the blood running down his wrist. His attention on both the silent reminder of the Witch’s words and the horrifying pit that curls in his stomach at the fact the shit was soaking into his skin. Forgoing his clothes and sinking into the scabs and open sores on his hands. 

Someone's hand is on his shoulder; pink eyes flare red as he turns. Barring his tusks as second nature, the tall one's face greets him, the loud one peering over his shoulder. He stares down at his palm. 

The man's lips are moving, but his head is so loud that nothing gets through- he merely just grunts and ignores the implying looks. And stands. Plucking pieces of glass out of his hand with the other one, dropping them to the ground. 

Someone grabs at his wrist. 

\---

Wilbur glanced at Techno standing next to Niki, watching as he simply stood. He wasn’t even looking at the papers laid out in front of them; pink eyes focused on something. But he wasn’t all there. 

Not like the man had been since the Festival, something clawed its way to the surface after the event. But this was almost even odder. Going out on a limb, he glances away from Techno’s face, holding up a hand. Quieting whatever Tubbo had been saying. “Techno, what do you think?” There was no outward reaction, not even a moderate switch. Wilbur swallowed, “Techno.” 

The Piglin shifts, eyes going to the wall behind Wilbur, one hand curling into a fist; the grunt he lets out is slow as if the man has forgotten how to speak. Something tightens on his chest, for fucks sake- why does the Hybrid even bother to show up. Fundy snorts; Wilbur watches as eyes flicker over to him, for just a second. Almost as if he’s shocked, before the eyes return to the wall. 

“Why is he even here, Wilbur?” Quackity’s voice is quiet, white wings shaking slightly. He reaches up and fidgets with his beanie. Glancing at the pink-haired man whose face is half-hidden behind a curtain of pink curls. Wilbur rubs at his temples because we need him. Is what he wants to say. Nothing will get done without him. But he can’t because the piglin isn’t even listening. 

Tommy makes a hm noise before turning to Quackity. “Because he can slaughter half the city if he wishes to. Isn’t that right, Big T.” he shoves the piglin, and they all watch in horror as the man loses his footing. Letting out a high pitched grunt before stumbling fully backward, tripping over the chair leg. 

Wilbur reaches to grab Tommy’s arm, who lets out a small scream. He doesn’t catch him in time; there’s a shattering of Glass. And a squeal as Techno connects with the floor. Tommy gets shoved, and Techno holds the remains of his potion that was clipped to his belt. His eyes are purely focused on it and not the blood coating his palm. 

Tommy’s already spilling over with Apologizes, scrambling to his feet. Wilbur places a careful hand on the man's shoulder, the man whose eyes flash red for a second. Something that chills him to the bone, “You Alright   


The piglin stands abruptly. He starts picking the glass out of his palm with careless fingers, dropping the tiny shards to the floor. So much that Niki lets out a small gasp, reaching out to softly grab his wrist. 

Wilbur’s body tenses at the way the piglin’s eyes turn to her, the way he just stares at her. The way he completely ignores her words. Just stares. “I’m sorry about the potion.” Tommy’s voice is soft, and the boy has practically melded himself against Wilbur’s side. Techno still says nothing. Just stares at Niki, who looks increasingly upset. She pauses, “Can you hear me?” The piglin blinks at her, wiggling his fingers, and turns his attention to her hand still on his wrist.  _ Small  _ Pink tinged fingers, Wilbur realizes- softly peel the smaller hand away from his wrist. 

And the Piglin is gone, up the stairs and into the room that was designated for him. The piglin’s door shutting with a soft click 

Niki lets out a small sob. Turning to Wilbur with wide, terrified eyes. “Wil, Wil, I don’t think he can  _ hear.”  _ Wilbur stares at her, thinks of the conversation he had with the man a few days ago, how there had been no trouble in speaking, in a sound barrier between the two. He thinks back to the almost silent words of a piglin who vanished into the woods not even seconds after. 

\---

Techno doesn’t leave the room for the rest of the day, and Tommy curls against Wilbur’s side. He looks down at his little brother, who blinks up at him. “Do you think he’s mad at me?” Wilbur glanced up at the room, the door was still shut, and the light was off. He wants to say no, that the man isn’t upset with him, but he also doesn’t want to lie to him. 

Instead, he just shrugs, looking down at blue eyes. “It’s Techno.” 

He isn’t sure what it's supposed to be, what it's supposed to mean. But Tommy seems to get it anyway. Turning back to the fire, hands twitching in his lap. “I didn’t mean to break his potion.” Wilbur knows he didn’t; everyone does. Perhaps even Technoblade knows that. 

\--- 

Wilbur brushed his hair out of his face, the cave system quiet. Meaning either Tubbo and Tommy are out causing havoc, or they are planning Havoc. Shaking out his hands before heading up to Techno’s room. The door remained unopened; no one had seen him- so it was likely the Piglin was still in the room. Either licking his wounds (His hands looked terrible, once he got a good look at them. Bruised, covered in scrapes and several blisters.) or brewing another one of those Potions. 

His knuckles make a surprisingly hollow sound on the door, he rocks on his toes. Waiting for the lumbering figure of the resident Piglin Hybrid. The only noise is a small grunt; Wilbur furrows his eyebrows. Techno doesn’t sound like that at all. 

Trying at the handle, finding it unlocked, he pushes the door open. The hinges creak from lack of use; the room is bare, besides a few Potion stands, a chest; one which he knows is probably empty, and a bed. 

A bed which houses a small tuft of pink hair and blood-stained sheets. Wilbur steps across the threshold, intentionally making noise. “Techno?” The blankets shift, and a little hiccup reaches his ears. A small pair of eyes meet him, and It takes Wilbur a full 20 seconds to realize they are  _ Blue,  _ a dark blue that seems to hold years of knowledge. But they are also watery and terrified. 

He glances around. There is no sign of Technoblade- only his boots set next to the door and his crown and cloak sitting on the table. Nothing else that indicates the Piglin lives here. So  _ why?  _

Wilbur swallows, slowly approaching the bed. A high squeal cuts him off, and the owner of the eyes is scrambling down from the bed and underneath it before he can even get halfway there. There's shuffling, and Wilbur notices the Axe rested between the wall and the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Little one.”

His returning answer is a squeak, one that bites off into a growl when he carefully steps closer. Wilbur doesn’t understand what is happening, but he will  _ not  _ leave this baby here upset. Not Alone, not ever. Not at this moment. He may have his cruel moments and days where his mind slips away from him. 

But Today is not one of those days. 

He sucks in a breath as he sinks to the floor. “I’m Wilbur. Do you know where you are?” He gets no response; his fingers twitch. A quiet sniffle, and his heartbreaks a little bit at the fact that the kid is probably terrified. When Fundy was upset when he was young, it was easy to comfort the small Fox Hybrid. Hummed songs and easy swaying. It was easy to get the fox to turn from sobs to Giggles. 

Wilbur hasn’t been that version of himself in many years. 

He hums softly to himself, an age-old lullaby. One that he never remembers learning, one that rattles in his head, with soft smiles, and Phil’s timeless laugh. He hardly remembers the words, snippets, but each lullaby is about the same.

The Kid says nothing, does nothing. But a pair of startling blue eyes stare at him from below the edge of the bed. He repeats the same snippet, twice over, before trailing off as he forgets the rest. Eyes furrowed. A smaller voice picks it up, though he sings in actual words. Words that sound foreign to his ears. But right in his mind. 

They sing it twice before the air falls still. Wilbur’s mind searches for where he knows the song from, what piece of his brain remembers the language and the tune. His breath catches in his throat as tiny pink hands lead first, and the small kid climbs out from under the bed. 

Brown and Pink curls, and a pair of pink floppy pig ears. Blue eyes staring up at him, he’s drowning in a button-up shirt, and Wilbur’s heart does a weird flip at the blood on it. But it's unmistakablyTechnoblade’s shirt, right down to the small Sword on the shirt collar. 

“Hello there.” He keeps his voice soft, and the kid just stares at him. They can’t be over 3 or 4, tiny, compared to most kids. Even  _ Tommy  _ wasn’t this small. He feels inconsistent and odd. No  _ Child  _ had looked at him with this much confusion, this much fear before. Wilbur bites his lip, reaching out a careful hand, tiny fingers curl around his own. They’re cold to the touch, and blue eyes just pear at him from under curly fringe. 

He slowly pulls his arm closer to his body; they make small steps; the unmistakable sound of hooves connecting with stone floors. The shirt drags, Wilbur swallows a Coo. Pink hands move from his face to his hair, eyes widening and reaching for the curls. His heart aches just a little bit, even when grubby little hands grab at them. 

Wilbur lets a small laugh bubble out of his mouth, blue eyes move back to his face- wide and confused. Before they pull slightly- “Hey, hey, that hurts Babe.” He carefully removes the hands from his hair, holding them in his hands. 

Blue eyes stare at him, a blank look swimming in the depths. Before the little guy lets out a small squeak, wiggling his fingers. And Wilbur is reminded of Techno’s jittery hands when held by someone else. His mind supplies him  _ this is Technobalde,  _ a tiny version of him, a small, unmarked version. Pair the mark on his face that is puffy and stretches from the left side of his face, starting just under his jaw to just a few millimeters short of his right eye. 

Wilbur wants to gather the pup to his chest, to hold him until Wilbur feels it's safe enough to let go. But it’s not his place. He doubts the kid would let him either, pull him close and forget about everything else. Wilbur needs to handle this correctly; first, it starts with figuring out if the kid understands English. 

Staring down at the shirt, the kid was drowning in, perhaps some clothes too. 

\---

Any clothes that Wilbur saved from when Fundy was little would be in Manburg, tucked away in a box. So with the tiny kid tailing after him, clutching at the tail of his trench coat with a frantic squeal. Blue eyes wide in panic and tear stains on his cheeks. It took all of his willpower not to invade Baby’s space and pull him close to his chest. He slowly took the trek to Niki’s room, watching the kid from the corner of his eye. 

He rapped his knuckles against the wood, a warmth flooding through him at the firm sound. Sound of a full room, a room full of life. A small, what could only be described as a small oink, drew his attention downwards again. To scary intelligent blue eyes staring up at him. “Just need some help from someone with steady hands, Babe.” When the words register, he knows because of the little guy nodding, his ears floppy slightly as he does. 

Niki’s brown eyes greet him when the door opens, “Wilbur?” he smiles at her before looking down at the  _ little blade, _ which has moved to hide behind his legs, one single blue eye staring up at his friend. “We might have a slight problem.” 

\---

Wilbur sat on top of Niki’s cold furnace as she pulled out fabric after Fabric from her closet. She glances over at the Kid sitting on her bed, who is fidgeting with his hands- and keeps looking up at Wilbur every so often. Before sniffing to himself and going back to his hands. 

It's terribly cute and doesn’t fit the name Technoblade in his head; he’s not sure why, but he can’t bring himself to tag this small child to the Looming form of Pogtopia’s biggest asset. Especially when those dark blue eyes turn to him with curiosity shimmering in their depths, he reminds him of a smaller, quieter version of Tommy. With bright baby blue eyes and an irresistible pout that got him almost everything he wanted until he turned 8. 

Niki is ripping up an old pair of jeans, mumbling to herself. “He just woke up like this?” Wilbur shrugs, not sure, to be honest. “I found him like this. Not sure when he turned into  _ this. _ ” She nods, grabbing a small box from under her bed; the kid jumps when he notices her so close; eyes flickering to Wilbur. Panic in the blues. 

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.” Niki glances between the two of them before she puffs out a laugh. She doesn't explain what she’s laughing at, so Wilbur wisely chooses to ignore it as she starts cutting and stitching two different fabrics together. Blue eyes watch her now, either to see what she’s about or captivated by the simple existence of her. 

Wilbur isn’t sure about either. 

They sit there in silence for a long time, Wilbur writing down a small to-do list on his palm and Niki with her sewing. The kid had yawned twice in the past 10 minutes, and his tiny tusks on display for the first time. It was unbelievably cute. Curls, a mix of  _ brown  _ and pink, bunched around his face, and it was cute to watch him bat them out of his eyes every few minutes. 

“Will he let you touch him?” Wilbur turns to look at Niki, who's holding a small shirt in her hands, and what looks to be a part of patchwork overalls. Wilbur chews on his cheek and the tiny version of the Anarchist. “He likes my curls, but he hasn’t been against touch.”  _ yet  _ goes unsaid, she makes a face. Before handing him the set of clothes, and then a pair of underwear. She blushes. “I shrunk a few of Tubbo’s doing the wash so that they might fit.” 

He laughs 

Tired blue eyes regard him carefully, he holds the clothing out to him, and the boy stares. The door closes with a soft click; Niki has excused herself, making things a little bit easier. “Want something that fits a bit better?” Pink hands reach for the shirt, Wilbur holds his breath, and this time he can’t help the soft coo when the kid’s eyes widen at the soft textures. Glancing up at him, and then back down. He nods several times, pulling at the shirt that was virtually a dress on him. 

Wilbur laughs softly, pulling it up over his head, sliding underwear up small legs, and then the overalls. The piglet's soft grunts are adorable, his hands clenching around the blanket under him. Wilbur smiles before tapping the little guy's arms, who lifts them enough that he can get small hands in the sleeves. 

Once the shirt has been righted, and the babe got to grab at the fabric. Wilbur checked to see if the babes tail stuck through. When he realized he did, he pulled the straps over his shoulders and buckled them with the small mismatched buttons Niki sewed on the front. 

Wilbur cooed softly at him, “You can come back in, Niki.” 

Techno, his brain decides, because it  _ is  _ Technobalde, makes small grabby hands at him. Face screwed up slightly. He blinks before he’s scooping the small piglin up into his arms. A happy squeal is his reward and a hand in his hair again. Tugging much softer on his curls this time. Niki stares at him, and Wilbur feels nervous for some reason. “He’s nothing like his grown self, is he.” he looks down at blue eyes and swallows. 

“No, he’s nothing like him.” 

\--- 

Getting tasks done was almost impossible with a small child toddling after you. A tired one that wanted to sleep but didn’t trust the area enough to. One that grabbed at the back of Wilbur’s trench coat and let out small unhappy grunts when he went too far for the piglin to see or keep up with. 

Fundy was a happy baby, to just sit and play with his toys or sit and stare at nothing. Techno seems, wants to see where Wilbur is at all times, wants to toddle along behind, or even be held. He hasn’t even been around him for more than 3 hours. Wilbur signs, sitting down in front of where he put up some fencing and a blanket—trying to keep the tiny piglet from falling or hurting himself. 

The kid's eyes are glued on his, and one handheld out for Wilbur, the other curled into the fabric of his sweater, which is an adorable combination of A soft yellow, and Green. “Techno, babe, it’s alright. I’m not going far.” Wilbur thanks whatever gods above there are that Tommy and Tubbo aren’t around right now. Even Quackity, Fundy would be some help. 

And Niki has things to do. 

He just wishes the Pup would understand that he’s not trying to wander off and leave him here. Brushing the kid’s curls out of his face, watching as he leans into it with a happy hum, sleepy eyes fluttering close. Wilbur glances down at the blanket clutched in the babe’s hand; he picks it up. Judging the size before getting an idea. 

\---

Techno’s hands clutch at his shirt in sleep grabs, head pressed under his chin. Wilbur sighs softly, going back to working on the map in front of him, rubbing at curls in between floppy ears, smiling to himself when he gets soft grunts in return. 

Wilbur was just happy he remembered how to tie a sling, and it wasn’t like the kid weighed very much. His hands were free, so it made everything so much easier. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it was almost lunch- and Wilbur knew the inhabitants of Pogtopia would be heading back down here soon for food.

Crewing on his lip and sighing, while he didn’t want to wake up the sleeping babe. Least of all, panic the kid. The kid hasn’t eaten anything, not that Wilbur had either. Twitching as he ran his hand down Techno’s back, his knuckles softly tapping each bump in the babe’s spine. 

Before placing his whole hand across his back, mind fuzzy with the knowledge, it was almost as big as him. 

Wilbur hummed slowly, glancing up at Niki, who was quietly coming down the stairs. She smiled at him as she started Preparing something to eat. Coxing the campfire into a larger flame and setting Steak’s strips on the wood’s edges, poking at them with a stick. 

“You have any idea why he’s been, de-aged…?” Wilbur shakes his head, looking up from his work. Techno shifting, digging a small hoof into his ribs. Hissing quietly, shifting the little guy’s feet through the blanket. “Not a clue.” 

Before digging into her bag, she nods and holds out a set of bottles and a few silly cups. “I know we shouldn’t trust them, but Eret offered to get Fundy’s old things.” Wilbur bristled at the name, mind snarling- before reaching out to take the cups. 

Something cold settled in his bones, knowing Niki wasn’t stupid- she wouldn’t go around telling people these things, right? “Did you tel-“ “No, they said it wasn’t their business.” Wilbur let out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing. He smiles at her in an apology- she just looked at him. Her eyes were soft. 

Loud steps interrupted the little peace the two had, giggles and voices echoing down the expanse of the cave. Wilbur cringed, Techno shifting, head lifted from its spot on his shoulder. Cursing up a storm in his head, damn it. “Hey Piglet, go back to sleep.” Blue eyes stare up at him, a small fog over them. 

“Wilburrrrr!” The toddler’s head jerked around at the new voices. Hands clutching tighter at his shirt, the poor kid wide awake now. Wilbur sighed, glancing up at the figures of Tommy and Tubbo running down the stairs. Tommy first, they both quieted when passing Techno’s room before picking back up on whatever conversation they were having. 

Rubbing at the kid’s hair, humming lowly in his throat. An attempt to soothe him. Tommy turns to him at the bottom steps before freezing completely. Causing Tubbo to smash into his back, Wilbur stifles a chuckle at the sight of the two. “Is that A fucking  _ Child _ ?” his voice is high and confused, and Tubbo stands on his toes to peek around his shoulder. Wilbur’s amusement melts, gently pressing Techno's head against his chest. Blue eyes are wild and confused. 

“Yes, Tommy, it is a child.” his brother’s face screwed up just a small bit, the Teen then finishing hopping down the stairs. He watches as Blue eyes blink a few times before the features and the hair connect. His expression drops, and his face drains of its color. “Is that Techno?” Wilbur nods, shifting his hold on the babe. The two teenagers come just a bit closer, and Tubbo’s green eyes are sparked with curiosity. “He’s so small.” 

Wilbur watches Techno watch his brother and his brother's best friend, watches the little kid glance up at Wilbur and then back to green and baby blue eyes. His own dark blue eyes were shining with confusion and fear. He lets out one of the panicked little grunts of his and reaches around to grab at his neck, tiny cold fingers gripping at the collar of his shirt. He lets out a small squeal, nose screwing up, and ears pinning to the sides of his head. 

His skin tingles, Techno kicking at his ribs. “Hey,” Wilbur turns away from Tommy and Tubbo, rocking from side to side, trying to get blue eyes to focus on him, “Hey, it’s alright. Look at me, Tech.” Eyes glued to his cheeks, not looking at him in the eye. Something heavy rests in his stomach. “No one is going to hurt you okay,” He reaches up and brushes tears off the hybrid's face. Careful of the healing mark there. 

Techno gives several small unhappy grunts and one that peels off into a small squeal- tiny hands coming up to clutch at Wilbur’s hand—grabbing at his fingers. “Tommy is a little loud sometimes, but relatively harmless. And Tubbo likes bees; he wouldn't hurt  _ anyone.  _ You’re safe, Tech.” He glances over his shoulder, Tommy’s face is unreadable, and Tubbo looks crestfallen. 

Wilbur’s heart aches for problems he cannot fix- problems he doesn’t understand the cause of, Techno trying to bury himself into his chest, face pressed into his shoulder, and hands holding tiny fist fulls of his shirt. “He’s shy.” Tommy laughs ever so slightly, looking older than he is. And something in Wilbur breaks just a little bit more.   


Niki taps at Tubbo’s legs, “Food, boys.” The two shift before they both sit on the floor and grab the pieces of steak she holds out to them. And Wilbur’s attention goes back to the toddler in his arms, whose attention is fluttering between the two teenagers sitting on the floor and the patch of L’Manberg’s flag on his shoulder. 

Wilbur unties the sling, wrapping the babe up in the blanket- humming lowly in his throat, digging around in the cold chest for a bit with the kid on his hip. A few baked potatoes are left, and Wilbur starts up the furnace. Grabbing a bucket of water, setting it down to boil while attempting to peel three potatoes with one hand. Glancing back at the small fenced area, he set up with half the blankets PogTopia held. 

Sighing quietly to himself walking around, the three curled up on the floor, talking animatedly between each other, and placed the Piglin down on the blankets. “I will be in the line of sight; please do not start screaming.” Blue eyes look at him, and small hands are making the universal sign for  _ up.  _

Wilbur rubs at his temple and steps away; the first grunt is small and confused. The next one is a tiny bit louder and has Tommy and Tubbo looking over at him, startled. Ignoring the looks and the boy’s small unhappy noises, he finishes peeling the potatoes and sticks them in the boiling water. 

Techno lets out a small whine. Wilbur very pointedly does not look at the tiny Piglin Pup. Instead turning his attention to the conversation going on around the fire. “Me and Tubbo think we can redirect the tunnels through Manburg to the other side, so we don’t have to worry about getting caught climbing up.” Niki nods. She’s cupping a water bottle in her hands. Tubbo’s face becomes solemn. “What are we going to do about Techno Wilbur?” 

He winces, ducking his head down slightly, when the Pup’s upset cries grow louder at his name, “I’m planning on contacting Dream about it. Maybe Dad.” Tommy looks at him with a hard look before the blond climbs to his feet, heading over to the Baby. “tom-” 

Techno goes quiet instantly, and Wilbur watches as his little brother; carefully picks up the kid- the two stare at each other for a minute before Techno’s short attention span has him grabbing Tommy's unkempt hair. His brother’s laugh is soft, “Hello, Techno.” The baby grunts excitedly, turning his eyes back to Tommy’s face. “Ha’ll’!” 

Wilbur’s eyes widen, and Tommy lets out another laugh. The kids got a small lisp, and it’s the most adorable thing on the planet. The Piglin babbles the word a few more times before he lets out his own giggle, pink hands releasing blond stands and reaching for Wilbur. Tommy makes an offended face before passing the kid over. Techno instantly goes for the hair. Tugging softly at his curls, tiny pig-like giggles escaping from his lips. Mouth parted enough that two small tusks are on display. 

His nose is scrunched up. And any fear that was prevalent on his face earlier was gone- looking quite happy held in Wilbur’s arms. Playing with his curls and tugging his own a few times over, the pink and brown was such a cute mix. He wonders when it all turned Pink. 

Remembering the Potatoes, he put in the water, careful of his giggly cargo. He removes the crudely made Pot with one hand. Before glancing down at sparkly blue eyes, “Tommy.” His brother looks up from the small craft in Tubbo’s hands. “Come hold him for a minute.” Wilbur smiles, watching as his brother stumble over himself to take the toddler from him. He got this way about Fundy when he was younger too. 

The only thing that makes the fox hybrid older is the Mob Genetics, and Wilbur is slightly grateful for them some days. Techno makes a small squealing sound before Tubbo has him enthralled by what looks to be a broken bee charm. Smile before going about rinsing and mashing the Potatoes. Niki takes the still warm bucket to fill with more water; he watches out of the corner of his eye as she measures milk into a sippy cup and then carefully places it in the warm water. She catches him looking at her, and her cheeks flush- looking away. “For later.” 

Wilbur glances over at the two teens, and his smile widens. Tubbo has Techno in his lap, and Tommy is showing off a few gold nuggets he must have stuffed in his pockets; the piglin doesn’t seem to want them himself, too happy just to watch as Tommy tries to get the light to glint off them. He gives them a few more minutes. 

It was good that this Tiny terrified of everything, version of Techno understood that none of them would hurt him. At the same time, it would seem normal for any toddler to wake up in a place and not trust anyone. The mark carved into his face spoke of many things, but kind people was not one of them. 

\---

Fundy poked at Quackity’s wing, hip bumping the other hybrid. Who squawked at him; the cave was mostly silent for once. His ears twitching. Did they miss lunch? Eye flickering to the clock, as Quackity struggled to get his wings into the hole. It was only 1; it would be weird if they did miss it. The other shook himself off, “Now my Wings are dirty again. Schlatt’s going to catch on to all of this if I keep getting mud between my feathers.” 

Laughing at the other Spys misfortune, before heading down the stairs, trailing his fingers down the side of the stone wall. His tail dragging along behind him, he strained his ears, desperately trying to catch any noise. The most he was getting was soft voices. 

So they didn’t miss Lunch, and Wilbur was probably sleeping for the first time in days. Quackity quiets as well- reaching out and grabbing at his arms, giving his wings one final shake. The scene at the bottom of the stairs is not one he was expecting. 

Wilbur is seated at the table, his back to the stairs, which  _ never  _ happens, murmuring to Niki. Fundy’s ears give a twitch. Tommy and Tubbo were sitting on the floor, both of them whispering. Tommy was rewrapping the leather around his hilt, his fingers both clumsy and practiced. Tubbo was fiddling with the small bee charm he broke that morning. Both boys were chatting. 

A glance at Quackity told him he wasn’t seeing things, and this quiet air around PogTopia was indeed real. It was strange, but he was hungry, so there was no use in questioning it. Maybe make some noise of his own. Get his uncle and his friend going. It was funny when the two went at each other and then would laugh it off two minutes later. 

“Hey, Dad!” Wilbur glanced up. His eyes were tired, but the smile stitched on his face made Fundy’s heartache, a hopeful edge to it, but so much happier than it had been in  _ days _ . His tail gives a faint wag, Quackity was digging around in the Cold Chest, and Fundy would follow him soon. “Hi, Fundy. How was your morning?” 

Brown eyes stared at him from over his shoulder for a little bit, while Fundy tried to remember the eternity of his morning. Most of which involved Schlatt, and he wasn’t in the mood to ruin the soft feeling in the air. So he shrugged, rounding the table, fully intending to see what his Dad had been up to all day. 

Niki giggled, looking at something that was hidden by Wilbur’s coat. His fox ears picked up a small grunt, and confusion laced his mind.  _ What? _ Wilbur stifled a laugh with his hand, which he picked up, turning to glare at his Father. All thoughts pausing as his amber eyes met dark blue ones. 

“Fundy, meet de-aged Technoblade.” 

\---

Wilbur was trying very hard to get the piglin to go back to sleep. The warm bottle Niki made a last resort. The kid ate all the mashed Potatoes that Wilbur made, which was great. It got something in his stomach and hopefully made him at least a tiny bit more sleepy again. It didn’t, which he should have known; this wasn’t a Baby, This was a toddler.   


But Techno seemed rather happy to sit in Wilbur’s lap while he ate something himself. Tiny Pink tinged fingers curled around the Flag Patch he un-velcroed from his jacket sleeve to let him play with. Fundy was here, which was good- and watching Quackity startle, and then calm down when the Duck hybrid realized the man he was typically terrified was a small toddler. 

Who had a fascination with Shiny things. 

Tubbo had announced that as soon as he fixed the bee charm,  _ Tiny Techno  _ could have it. Which Tommy complained about for a total of 5 minutes about how it was  _ his charm, and Tubbo couldn’t just give it away like that.  _ Wilbur was happy the two kids had quiet activities to do until they decided what to do with the afternoon. 

Wilbur planned on contacting Dream and hopefully talking to him within the day. It was unlikely as the man tended to ignore most calls or Messages sent. But to do any of that, they needed a babysitter. 

While Wilbur loves Tommy and seems good with the kid, it merely sounds like a recipe for disaster. Fundy and Quackity are out-. They have to be back in Manburg (L’manburg) soon, or people will start to get suspicious. Niki was the only option, and probably the best. 

They disperse around 3, and Wilbur hands-off Techno to Niki. Going back to the mass of papers and maps spread across the table. Before reaching for his communicator, fidgeting as he scrolls through the list of people until he finds the contact. He just hopes that Dream picks up the damned phone. He doesn’t, and Wilbur isn’t surprised. However, Sapnap does, and Wilbur has never hung up so fast in his entire life.

Glancing back at Niki and Techno, the kid’s fingers are curled in her hair. However, he seemed to be happy to just hold instead of pull. Niki was pulling the curls out of his face, exposing very light pink eyebrows. The piglin's hair is thick and doesn’t want to cooperate with whatever Niki was attempting to do with it. Wilbur sat back at the table, checking to see if the water was still hot. It was warm, and he tested the bottle of milk on his wrist. Checking the time and looking at blue eyes that were intently watching him move around. 

Wilbur sighed lightly, shaking out his limbs before offering the milk to the kid. Who lights up at the sight, small hands instantly letting go of dyed hair, grabbing the bottle in his hands—most of the weight that Niki takes before the kid gets a good hold on it. The happy little grunts that fill the room are positively adorable. 

“Wil?” He looks at his friend, who's smiling slightly at him as she gathers more strands of pink and brown hair. “Go take a nap. PogTopia isn’t going to fall apart in 2 hours. I’ve got Techno.” He blinks at her. Exhaustion tugging on his limbs, blue and brown eyes just stare at him. He knows it's a losing battle when Techno yawns around the bottle in his mouth. Niki lets out a laugh, “Nap time for the  _ both  _ of you then.” 

\---

Niki sighs softly, smiling to herself, peeking into Wilbur’s room, checking to see if Techno had woken up. Wilbur was curled on his side, trench coat and beanie abandoned, tucked around the small form of Techno. She noticed the toddler had a mouth full of his fist, slotted in between his short tusks—the other gripping at Wilbur’s shirt. 

It was by far the softest thing she’d seen in the damn cave in a long time. 

She didn’t close the door in fear it would wake Wilbur up. He’d never been a deep sleeper the entire time she’d known him. With everything, any light noise she makes would wake him up. 

Niki brushed her hair out of her face, pulling it back into a small bun; Techno’s potato farm wasn’t getting taken care of until they figured out why he was a tiny version of himself—pushing up her sleeves, pulling off her boots and then her socks—sinking her toes in the cold dirt. 

She periodically checked the time. She didn’t want Techno nor Wilbur to sleep the rest of the day away and then not get any sleep during the night. Sure, time was running away from her the longer she moved in the field, nowhere as fast as Techno was at taking care of it. Half of it was done by the time five rolled around, and she felt exhausted. 

Wilbur’s communicator had buzzed a while ago, and it was probably best if she went to walk the two up. Setting down the basket full of potatoes, scrubbing her hands in a bucket of water. Pushing open the door the rest of the way, she let out a small laugh- feeling warm, Wilbur’s arms were full of a little toddler, brown eyes open and wake- staring down at the piglin pup. A ting handheld carefully in his palm. 

He glanced up at her, a smile on his lips. Before redirecting his attention to Techno, “He’s so  _ small _ .” he looks at her again, tears in his eyes. “I want whoever ruined this boy's life to  _ die,  _ Niki, I want them  _ dead _ .” Her heart broke just a little bit more. Reaching out to her friend, who just stared at the outstretched hand. He grabbed her fingers, his hand dwarfing hers. 

She wished she knew who hurt him too, who turned the giggly child- the happy toddler into whoever haunted the worlds like a Ghost. Who turned smiles and bright eyes into cold ones. She doesn’t want them dead, no. She wants to ask why- why a child was the chosen target. 

\--- 

Tech pressed his head against Wil’s chest, wanting down to explore. All of this looked so  **big,** and he wanted to see all of it! Wil was nice, and not like  _ him.  _ Maybe if he asked, Wil would let him explore. 

He glances up at the tall man’s chin, grumbling low in his chest- his eyes glanced down at him. And Tech grunted softly, frustration growing as he attempted to get his mouth to remember how to speak English. “Dow’n?” Wil stares at him before he glances up. “plea’se?”  _ he  _ liked when Tech was polite, liked when he remembered how to act human. 

“Sure, buddy. Just stay in my line of view. Alright.” Tech nodded several times, squeaking in excitement. The floor was cold, but he liked the way his hooves made noise on the ground. Kicking at a small rock before glancing around. “Than’k yo!” A large hand carefully placed itself between his ears. Tech held himself very still, staring up at Wil. 

He ruffled his curls before he went back to whatever was so fascinating on the table. Tech scanned the area, fidgeting with his fingers; before shoving them to his sides. No one liked it when he squirmed. Peeking around the table, before a room with what looked like  _ dirt  _ caught his eye. 

Climbing up over a small step, and giggling quietly in excitement, digging his hooves into the dirt, forgetting about  _ his  _ rules for just a moment before tugging on his hair, sitting down to draw designs. He sets about shoving his fingers under the dirt, giggling at the feeling. 

Hair falling in his face, he shoves it away and tugs on his ear for just a second. “Tech!” He turned around; Wil was standing looking around. Letting out a small squeal at the sight of his new favorite human, he scrambles to his feet. 

Wil was in front of him suddenly, “Sorry Babe, didn’t know where you went. But I’ve also got to cut your Playtime short.” Tech lets out a small unhappy grunt but curls into the tall man's chest when he picks him up—feeling safe as he’s set on the tall man's hip. 

\---

Dream agreed to talk to him, which was great, but that also means he has to meet the man halfway. He wished he could just bring him down into Pogtopia, but at this rate, the man was only an agent of Chaos. And with Techno as he was, it would be incredibly stupid too. 

So to the middle of the woods almost to sundown with a toddler. Great plan, Wilbur, excellent game plan. Dream could be a total Dick about all of this. Is he bringing Back up? No, because he’s an idiot.

Adjusting his grip on Techno and Talking the second way out of the cave system. Not feeling like making the hole and then attempting to get a wiggly Toddler through it. With a firm grip on the Piglin and another on a torch, he begins the careful trek through one of Tommy’s tunnels. 

Techno was silent, blue eyes glancing around- all playful nature vanishing from his small body. His grip was progressively getting tighter, tiny fingers digging into Wilbur’s neck, rubbing a small circle into the boy’s back. Trying to remember the words to the lullaby the boy sang this morning. 

A song Wilbur was begging to realize was written and sung in the  _ old language _ . The ones that are scratched into the sides of swords and simple tables. He made a mental note to call Phil after this talk with Dream. His father was almost ageless these days. The man remembered things that should be long  _ dead. _

Climbing up a set of stairs. Putting his torch out, the low flickering lights from Manburg lit the tiny space as he shoved the covered trap doors open. Careful of anyone out patrolling before climbing the last of the stairs. Techno’s eyes widened, and Wilbur had to stifle the coo that climbed his throat.

The form of Dream was easy to spot between the trees; Wilbur stopped just a little ways away, out of the man's torchlight. Perhaps for his protection, but it was absolutely for the precious piglin in his hands. “Wilbur.” 

He swallowed, his free hands grabbing at his sword handle. “ _ Dream _ .” Techno was extremely quiet. Something that Wilbur was immensely grateful for, letting out a small breath he was holding in. Dream shifted just a bit closer. Wilbur took an involuntary step back; Techno let out a little almost silent growl. And for just for a split-second, blue eyes caught  _ red  _ in the light. 

“I’d thought you’d be bringing Technoblade, especially with it being so  _ late _ .” Wilbur shifted his hold on Techno again, tightening his loose grip on his sword. He didn’t like the implications of the words and the fact that Dream was wearing every inch of his mask. “Were you looking for a fight?” Wilbur levels his voice, keeps himself planted in one spot when Dream takes another step closer. 

Dream shrugs, “Maybe.” 

In the next step, Dream Takes bathes the tree to Wilbur right in the light, and he knows the shadows won’t be his friend for much longer. But it also triggers a louder growl from Techno. One that has Dream’s head whipping around, the masked man was reaching for his sword. Techno is tense in his arms. Fingers dug deep into Wilbur’s neck. And he has a small feeling that the kid’s teeth are bared—short tusks on display. 

Wilbur makes a small shh sound, trying desperately to soothe the kid, at least somewhat. Dream had his sword drawn now, and Wilbur was tempted to draw his own. But with a small puff of air, he carefully pulled his hand away from it. Dream was back to face him, and Wilbur could feel the intensity of those green eyes through the mask. 

The  _ Demigod  _ pointed his sword at him, “You said Techno wasn’t here. And no one else Growls like that.” Wilbur feels a smile curl across his face, “I  _ never  _ said that he wasn’t here.” something was satisfying to watch the man tense, to be rattled. Something nasty sat in his gut at the way Dream twisted around. Looking for something that wasn’t there. 

Techno lets out a very soft grunt. It was miserable and edged on Panic. Dream turned back to Wilbur, finally stepping close enough that he was in the light. He watches as Dream drops his sword and pulls his mask off his face. Shoving down the black mask underneath. “Holy  _ shit.”  _

Wilbur laughs this time. It’s bitter, he knows, and Techno lets out another grumble. Kicking at his rib cage. Hands shoving at Wilbur’s chest suddenly. The kid growls. “I don’t think he likes you very much, Wilbur.” 

In the light, it's easy to see the flickering of red and blue eyes, the anger and panic on his face. “Hey, No Tech _ ,  _ it's  _ okay _ . I’m sorry.” He glances up just as the realization crosses Dream’s face. crouching down and setting Techno down, absently righting the pups clothes. Dream moves back just a little bit. 

“Techno looking at me babe, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you.” The pup squeals, shoving at Wilbur’s hands. The kid's mouth moves, but no real words come out. The languages of the old ones do, though. The piglin spits them angrily- words that Wilbur doesn’t understand. Dream was just staring at them—no recognition in his eyes, just mild horror. Wilbur glances around, panicked. Someone is going to hear all of this, this close to Marburg. Or the mobs emerging from their holes to stalk the night will. “ _ Technoblade.”  _ the pig freezes, flinching away from him. Eyes steadying on blue, and the kid’s head dips. Blue eyes were filled with tears. 

Wilbur’s heartbreaks, because of  _ course _ , happy unscratched Technoblade doesn’t exist. 

“It’s okay little one. No harm comes to you when I’m around, remember? That includes me.” The boy's mouth twitches, but he says nothing. Just let out a small whine. Hands were suddenly grabbing for Wilbur’s coat. “So’y, Sor’y! Do’t no ho’le  _ plea’se _ . I do be’ter.  _ Promise _ .” Wilbur gathers him to his chest and stands. Dreams expression is dark when he meets the other’s face. “No, Hole,  _ never. _

The normally masked man’s free hand is clenched into a fist—Wilbur rocks on his heels. The kid’s sobs break off into Hiccups. “That’s Techno?” Wilbur nods, “He woke up like this. He smashed a potion last night. I’m not sure if this is the reaction. Or if it’ll wear off.” 

Dream nods, rubbing at his temple. “What color?” Wilbur furrows his eyebrows, looking down at the kid and then back at Dream. “ _ Clear… _ I think. I have no idea where it came from.” He stares at the man in front of him, tilting his chin up, and runs his hand down the babe’s back. Humming lightly, directing his attention to the pink and brown-haired toddler. 

Wilbur waited, cooing softly at the kid, the kid who just sniffled pitifully into his shirt, and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “I’ll see what I can find. But I don’t feel comfortable leaving you out here this late with a  _ baby.  _ God, why didn’t you say anything? We could have done this during the day. Wilbur-  _ Fuck.”  _ Dream latches his mask to his belt, shoving his hood down- messing up his hair. 

“I feel like an  _ idiot _ .” 

He laughs, and it's empty. Wilbur glares at him for the way Techno tenses. Blue eyes fearful, Wilbur hates whoever did this to him, hates the person who ruined the Pup’s innocence. All he can see is Tommy or Fundy if they were in this position. Children should be  _ loved.  _ He swallows as Dream starts in the general direction of PogTopia. Chewing on his cheek, before quietly calling out to him. “I know a faster way.” 

\---

Wilbur placed Techno’s sleeping form into the small fenced area he made earlier. Turing to Dream, who had several swords pointed at him. Tommy was shaking in fury. Wilbur’s lips twitching at the reason they all were quiet was because of the Baby sleeping. “Leave him alone. He offered to help.” 

Tubbo’s puff of angry air and the sheathing of his sword made chills run down Wilbur’s spine. The move was terrifying, close to the way the Teens father did so. The Captain was a force of nature when he wished to be, and Tubbo was no different. Tommy’s sword dipped and connected with the floor with a small clang, blue eyes full of anger. 

Niki put her sword away, actually shoulder checking Dream with a sharp look before moving to check over Techno with a bump to Wilbur’s hip. Dream’s green eyes jumped from person to person before turning in a small circle- looking at the cave system. “Rather cold down here.” Tommy puffed air out of his nose, and Wilbur laughed slightly 

“He’s alright, spooked. But alright.” Niki looks up at him before pushing a cup into his hands. The water bottle makes his lips twitch. “Thank you.” 

Wilbur turns to Dream, clutching the bottle in his hands, leaning against the fence around the makeshift playpen. The man was shifting his mask around on his belt; Green meets Brown. “I’ll figure it out.” He dips his head before he turns and walks back the way Wilbur showed him. 

Shaking out his limbs and brushing his hair out of his face. Ignoring the light Tremor of his hands and Spreading his arms wide. Plastering a smile on his face. “That went well.” 

Tommy’s answering laugh was boisterous and edging hysterical. Wilbur reached over and pulled his brother into a hug, burying his nose in blond fluff. Tommy’s arms curled around his middle before he let go. Ruffling his hair and putting a bit of space between him and his brother. Hands holding onto his shoulders. “You think you and Tubbo can help me make a makeshift crib?” 

\---

Wilbur stares at his ceiling, mind empty of the babe sleeping in the crib/bed with railings on the sides; the day's events running through his head. Hands twitching as he played with the edge of his shirt. What the hell does he do? They plan to go to war. He did that once with Fundy- started a revolution, took his son along. But Techno is _small; he’s_ _scared._ Wilbur can’t have all of them run off into this. They can’t do this much longer. 

He can see how it wears down on Tommy and how Tubbo watches shadows like they will come alive and kill him. Niki hardly leaves PogTopia these days, and Wilbur wanders along there with her. 

Quackity and Fundy are possibly days away from being found out. There was nothing left for them to fight for because it was all right  _ here.  _ Tucked away in a cave, Wilbur thinks of ruby eyes and Blood red ones. Thinks of Pink hair and the gleam of Netherite as it cuts down person after person. Was any of this worth it? 

Wilbur curses at himself, turning on his side to stare at Techno’s sleeping form. The baby hugging the small plush Tubbo gave him, lips parted to let out tiny puffs of air. It doesn’t match up with anything he knows about the Piglin Hybrid. 

Techno is a silent killer. The hybrid has never been the one to hesitate when blood has been promised. With a flared nose, ears pinned; eyes twisting to blood red. The power in his swings- Wilbur aches because the little one in the bed across the room turns into what is virtually a  _ monster _ . Turns into the hellhound of the worlds, the Piglin on a warpath in a cape. 

It sounds ridiculous, thinking of it this way, of a man who doesn’t speak half the time or a man who stands against the bigger crowd because he wants a challenge. There was no doubt in his mind that Techno would eventually turn back into his grown self, back into the looming figure of death. 

There was nothing in a potion that wouldn’t wear off; Wilbur tucks his hands to his chest. Blinking tears from his eyes, cursing quietly in his head as they roll down his cheeks. Curling his toes. Part of his wishes for Techno to stay this way, for him to stay small for just a bit longer. For him to understand precisely  _ why  _ he became the person he is today. 

Wilbur can never have what he wants. 

\---

He woke to small grunts and a quiet voice. Wilbur’s heart jumps to his throat for a second before yesterday fills his head, and he relaxes. Propping himself up on his elbows, Tubbo had an armful of Tiny Techno. The piglin was mumbling sleepily, and Tubbo was whispering back at him despite Techno’s words being in the Old Language. 

Wilbur’s lip twitch, “Morning?” Tubbo jumped, a sheepish smile crossing his face. Techno grumbled unhappily, tugging on his hair. “Oh! Hi Wilbur, sorry if we woke you up.” He shook his head, pushing himself into a sitting position. Scrubbing at his face, glancing at the clock on the wall and wincing. “Why are you up at 4 am, Tubbo?” 

The boy blushed, shifting Techno in his arms; the boy's face had tears on it. Wilbur blinked- they  _ both  _ did. His heart jumped to his throat. “Is everything okay?” Tubbo blinked at him a few times before green eyes grew watery. The teen blinked fast several times, and something else broke within Wilbur. 

He holds out an arm, and Tubbo hesitates for a few seconds before climbing on the bed with Techno still held tightly in his arms, curling his arm around the teen, pressing his head on top of his. “I was already awake, and Tech was making noise. So- I came to check on him, ‘was crying, you were asleep- Niki said to le’t you, so I thought I cou-  _ help.”  _ Wilbur nods and hums softly, letting Techno sleepily play with his fingers. “Doesn’t explain why  _ you  _ were crying, though, Tubs.” 

The teen goes every quiet Techno was mumbling things again, the words of the old Language bouncing softly off the walls of Wilbur’s room. Tubbo sniffled, “I miss my  _ Dad.”  _ and things click together in his head, pulling the teen closer. Wilbur gets it. He was a few years older than Tubbo was when he decided to leave Phil and Tommy for his own adventures. 

He ached for the two of them for years. He still does, but now he’s got Tommy around. But Tubbo- Tubbo probably hasn’t seen his Dad in at least a year now. Stressful times, dying several times- respawning sucks. He’s been a part of a revolution, a country, a right-hand man, and then a traitor, a Revolutionary  _ Again _ . Wilbur can’t imagine not being able to speak to Phil for half of that at Tubbo’s age. It makes him worry for Tommy, with a bubble in his throat. 

These two don’t deserve any of this. 

Wilbur started this, led them into this. And they’ve gotten nowhere, just to a cold hole in the ground and a few extra scars. He hums softly, “Do you want to see if Fundy can get a letter through for the Captain?” The question tastes like lead on his tongue, burns under his skin. Something that could get Fundy killed. That doesn’t matter, not right now. Tubbo doesn’t say anything so that all Wilbur can do is watch as tears curl down the teen’s cheeks. Can wipe softly at the tears on Techno's tiny, scared face. Tubbo nods after a few minutes, “Please?” 

And Wilbur thinks of the notebook and pages meant to be ripped out and sent to Phil ages ago. Perhaps they both have Fathers to write to. Communicators are useless when trying to reach farther worlds. “I wouldn’t ask if we couldn’t try Kiddo.” He laughs slightly at Tubbo’s mumble of “I’m not a kid.” 

He takes Techno from Tubbo’s arms and lays the kid on his chest while he lays down. “Come on. It’s too early for either of you to be awake.” Techno was letting out small content noises, grabbing at Wilbur’s shirt. One of his small hands reached up to tug on his ear. Wilbur placed a hand on his back and waited for Tubbo to get comfortable. The kid mumbled out a small  _ Good Night _ . 

Sighing softly, running his hands down Techno’s back; and absently playing with Tubbo’s hair. “Thank you, Wilbur.” He glanced down at closed green eyes. “It’s my job. Keeping you all safe- and  _ happy. _ What sort of big brother would I be if I didn’t.” He doesn’t hold his breath in lue of the kid's response. He doesn’t. 

_ He did not blink away tears while Tubbo Mumbled out a “Love you too.” Wilbur did  _ not _.  _

\---

The morning was filled with grubby Toddler hands- some of Fundy’s old clothes and Tommy helping Tubbo write a letter to his Dad. Fundy held onto Techno for the moment, the kid had taken to babbling in the Old language much to most of PogTopia’s slight annoyance. Sure it was adorable and quite sweet. But they had no  _ idea  _ what the kid was even saying. 

Sure a few of the words were recognizable, some, but not enough to actually figure out what had the kid so instant on babbling on about. Wilbur laughed as Techno reached for Fundy’s ear again, the fox leveling him with a playful glare. “Little monster.” the piglin hybrid froze- staring at Fundy for a second. Before Blue eyes stutter around for Wilbur, the whine cuts through the air. 

Reaching for him, shoving the last of his piece of toast in his mouth and scooping the upset toddler from his son's arms. Reaching around for the kid’s own toast he didn’t finish, he gets another whine when it's offered to him. Intelligent blue eyes were scared. Fundy looks heartbroken, and Wilbur wishes to fix it now- but the babe in his arms is panicked, smaller, and looks to him for safety. 

Which  _ terrified  _ Wilbur. Fundy fidgets, ears tucked against his skull. Tubbo had glanced up- hands still- Tommy was looking at him too. Wilbur danced around the room slightly- ignoring the implying looks from everyone, eyes only on the babe in his arms. The Babe with watery eyes, and upset grumbles. 

Tubbo looks at Fundy, “I spent a couple of hours this morning just talking to him, what did you say?” Wilbur gives the teen a look that goes ignored, Fundy ducking his head. “I don’t- Mon-” Tommy hummed, “Eh! No, No  _ M-word _ . Normal Techno  _ hates  _ that word.” Wilbur glances at his brother, blue eyes were dead serious. He wonders what had to happen for him to learn that he hated it. 

It's a question for another time, and he files the information away for later. 

Techno settles after a while, curled against Wilbur’s chest; and he sighs slightly before he very carefully pries the child’s legs off him, and then places him on the ground. Blue eyes flutter around for a bit before he’s toddling off towards the farm again. Though the babe glances back every so often on his path to playing in some dirt, to look where Wilbur is. 

Wilbur grabs the book he pulled out of the chest this morning, he flicks through the pages. It’s almost every letter he’d written to his father when he came here. Sitting against the wall, Techno giggled and sat in the dirt. He watches as the babe digs his fingers carefully into the ground, humming rather happily. 

He flips the pages, and there are maybe 20 pages left in the whole book. He tugs at the smashed quill stuck between the cover and the first page. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, before getting to work on a rather long letter. If he was planning on sending the whole book, might as well finish it off. 

\---

Fundy tapped on where he stored Tubbo’s letter in his jacket pocket, The package that Wilbur pressed into his hands with a kiss to his forehead burned a hole in his back. It felt like it crinkled with every step. Someone was bound to hear it, if he could just avoid Schlatt- everything would be  _ fine.  _

Turning the corner, and everything in his body freezes. Quackity’s bubbly and loud laugh and the response of Schlatt’s voice makes him swallow thickly. This was going terribly already. If he waits and stands around, it’ll seem weird, but they also stood in front of the mail slot.  _ Fuck You Quackity.  _

Sighing before pulling Tubbo’s letter out of his pocket, drop it- ignore them,  _ leave.  _ Simple, simple. His ears twitch, and he steps around the corner fully. Zoning in on his task, just ignores them.  _ Ignore them.  _ He opens the flap, and the letter gets snatched out of his hands. 

Startling, Schlatt held the thing in his palms; brown eyes hardening as he recognized the handwriting. Fundy’s ears pin themselves against his head, his teeth dig into his lip when he bites it. “Fundy, I’m going to give you  _ one  _ chance to explain yourself.” Quackity’s face was panicked, and Fundy shifted. 

Brown eyes bore into him, the rams ears flicking with un amusement. 

“Um, I was going through Tubbo’s stuff, and I found it- didn’t see any harm in sending it.” He holds his breath as he stares at Schlatt, the man's expression doesn't change, and his heart jumps into his throat. Fundy forces himself to meet the other Hybrids' eyes. “It’s a letter to the kid’s  _ Dad,  _ Schlatt. He probably wrote about the festival or some shit.” 

Something softened in his face, Schlatt looked over at Quackity. The Rams ears twitched, and he puffed air out of his nose. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” Brown eyes are distant for a second before they sharpen suddenly. “Don’t do it again, Kid’s a fucking  _ Traitor  _ Fundy, Remember that.” Fundy’s heart doesn’t settle even as Schlatt leaves. The man calling after Quackity, who stares at Fundy for a long moment. It’s hard to not scream at Schlatt, to paint  _ Traitor  _ across his own forehead. Because standing here makes his skin crawl. Quackity smiles at him, it's flimsy and makes his head hurt; the duck hybrid mumbles out an “I’ll see about intercepting the Reply.” before running after Schlatt. 

Nothing in him relaxes, shoving Tubbo’s letter in the slot, and then glancing around before pulling out Wilbur’s package.  **Philza Minecraft** painted in the loopy strokes of his father’s handwriting. A few extra ink splatters from where Techno had bumped Wilbur’s arm. 

He slides in next to Tubbo’s letter and prays to dead gods- that any of this helps them. 

\---

Brushing hair out of his face, and glancing at Tommy and Tubbo leading Techno around. Niki had gotten a hold of the babe earlier and the Piglin’s hair was pulled back into an old Dutch braid. Sitting back in his chair, and watching the three. 

Techno was giggling and chasing after Tommy- who scooped up the toddler, instantly wiggling- the wild giggles he got before he even touched Techno’s stomach. Had Wilbur grinning, absently just watching them all. Tubbo’s laugh was almost as contagious as Techno’s, it was a cute sight, to watch the two be kids for a change. Tubbo had been in a better mood since Fundy left with his letter a few hours prior. He spent 20 minutes talking about his dad to Tommy, and it was nice to see both of those boys’s being nice to each other. The two were best friends through and through. 

Wilbur taps his pen on the table, before standing. Stretching his arms above his head, and a smile pulling at his lips when Techno’s eyes turn to him, and he lets out a happy squeal. Tommy and Tubbo turn to look at him. He grabs his coat off the back of his chair, “Would the three of you like to join me for a walk?” The two glance at each other, and Tommy is setting down Techno who had turned squirmy. The babe toddling over to Wilbur, his hooves making tiny taps on the stone. 

“Sure!” Tommy jumps, “What-” Tubbo is up the stairs and into the twos shared room before Tommy can finish his sentence, Returning with his shoes, and throwing Tommy’s at him. Tommy looks both confused and outraged. He grumbles and Wilbur reaches down and picks up Techno. Who mumbles happily, tugging at Wilbur’s beanie. Patting at the babe’s hands, and waiting for the two to finish putting on their shoes. The outfit they stole from Fundy’s old things is a blue sweater, and basically baby jeans. Wilbur turns to the box sitting out of the way, grabbing the small black jacket that was on top. 

Tubbo and Tommy were shouting as they raced to the top of the ravine. Both laughing as they pushed as shoved to get to the top. Tubbo shrieking as he almost went over the edge. Tommy grabbed his arm, pulling him towards him. Wilbur raised his eyebrow at the two. Mouth set in a thin line. “Sorry, Tubbo.” 

Wilbur smiled to himself, shifting his hold on Techno and following the two upstairs. “It’s alright.” 

\---

Tubbo and Tommy proceeded to find a small clearing, and then start fighting with Sticks. Wilbur sat under a tree with Techno tucked into his lap, a book in his hands. Glancing up at the two every so often, but quietly reading the book aloud. It was sweet with how attentive Techno was trying to be, the babe sometimes mumbling off in the Old Language. But otherwise just listening. 

Eventually, Tubbo came over and took Techno from his lap with no warning, laughing as he did; swinging around in a circle. Techno’s happy squeal filled the air, mimicking Tommy’s “ _ whoop _ !” with a higher pitch. Tubbo set the babe down before he sat and began very carefully explaining the rules of Tag to him. 

It took a total of maybe 15 minutes for Techno to understand this was a  _ game  _ and not just Tubbo and Tommy running away from him. There was a look of determination in intelligent blue eyes. Not once did the babe get upset for being tagged back. It was easy to see Normal Techno the longer the game went on, as the kid's steps grew more confident; and he got smarter at the game.

But he also got tired, and by the time the late afternoon was coming around- it was absolutely nap time. When the little piglin bared his teeth at Tommy for picking him up- they met grumpy Techno. Who wanted to be put down and made it very clear of that fact. Small growls and a grumpy fist full of Wilbur’s hair. A tiny kick to his ribs as they walked back to Pogtopia, Wilbur paused. Not that he wanted Techno to get his way with this, he doesn’t think his ribs can stand up against another onslaught of Hooves. 

Leveling Techno with a look before placing the Pup on his feet, he let out a small happy grunt. It was cut short when Wilbur grabbed his hand, Blue eyes stared up at him with a small glare. It was a death glare in the making for sure, but it was hard to take him seriously in a coat that didn’t fit. A baby blue sweater, and no tusks. His ears floppy and unclipped. 

The developing scar that was more in view with Niki’s braid still intact. It was an old scar on Techno’s face, the only one that he knows Techno won’t share the story too. It's easy to see why now, that perhaps the hybrid doesn’t remember the story. 

Techno let Wilbur hold his hand, a bit reluctantly. It helped that Tommy and Tubbo lagged behind, instead of running upfront. Seeing as the kid wanted to walk with them. 

The lights of Manburg in the distance were looming, the sun slowly setting behind the towers. Wilbur pauses for a long moment, reaching down to pick up Tech; he watches as the stupid flag whips around in the wind. Tommy steps up beside him, Tubbo on his other side. “Do you think Fundy got the letters off okay?” 

His voice is almost silent, and Wilbur turns to look at him, just a slight movement of his head. Green eyes stare at him, this time, it’s not 4 am- and Wilbur is very aware of all the risks, all the possibilities. He wants to say  _ Yes, of course, he did.  _ But he can’t because Tubbo is a fugitive, and so are the  _ rest  _ of them. He wants to comfort him, wants both of them to feel safe. But if Fundy got caught today- that means Quackity did. 

That means no one is  _ safe _ . 

Arms full of grumpy Toddler, standing between his little brother, and his little brother’s best friend. Wilbur fells lost- a forsaken President, of a  _ Fucking  _ hole in the ground. “I don’t know Tubbo.” 

He turns back to watch the sun fall farther in the sky, and wishes for once; that he could vanish between trees like Technoblade. 

_ “I don’t know.”  _

\---

Wilbur’s mind spins when Dream is waiting for them, sitting at the table that all of their plans are spread across. His heart lodges itself in his throat, and his grip on Techno tightens. The usually masked man is holding a book with Ruins on the cover in his hands, there’s a confused glint in emerald green eyes. Tubbo and Tommy both freeze behind him, he knows Tommy is cursing up a storm in his head at the fact none of them are armed. 

Passing the squirmy form of Techno to Tommy, shoving Tubbo softly in the direction of their room. “ _ Stay _ .” 

Righting his clothes, “Dream.” Green eyes snap up to him, and something settles in his stomach at the sight of surprise in his eyes. The blond man shoves himself to his feet, a blush covering his face. “Wilbur.” The man holds out the ruins book, “I know you sent something to Philza this Morning, and I just thought- maybe this would come in handy if he shows up…” he reaches out and takes the book. 

The front cover was cracked in one spot, a few pieces were missing the top layer of leather. But the pages were loved. Warn and the ruins taken care of, Dream looked nervous. The blond’s head was ducked, eyes glancing up at the rooms. “Techno speaks the old Language… do you think I could try talking to him?” Wilbur instantly wants to say no, an angry feeling reeling its ugly head in his chest. A sway of protectiveness in his stomach,  _ how dare he ask to see our Baby.  _

His mind spins, Techno  _ isn’t his.  _ Who is  _ ours _ ? Where did that come from? 

But Dream is the only one that he knows that speaks the old Language that he knows of besides Phil, and Phil was at least a 2 weeks trip out. His hands itched, and the book felt like taboo suddenly. Like taking it was giving Dream unlimited access to baby Techno. He still wants to say no, he wants to. 

There's something in Dream’s face that makes him pause, truly pause. What would the man get out of a baby that could harm them?  _ Fuck it. _ “10 minutes, that's it, and then you  _ get out.”  _ the blond nods and Wilbur places the book on top of the table. Shoulders relaxing at letting it go. There was something about it, and Wilbur didn’t like it. 

Dream smiles at him slightly, and Wilbur doesn’t offer him one back. “Tommy! You can come down.” The blond poked his head out of the room. Blue eyes are angry, but he comes out, with Techno held in his arms. Tubbo follows him out, holding a familiar axe in his hand. The shimmer of the enchantments reflected off the wall. It was easy to tell who it belonged to, by the faded pink ribbon tied to the end. 

Wilbur glanced at Dream, who grimaced and rubbed at a scar on his face. Techno was wide away, staring at everything with those terrifying intelligent eyes. Tommy took the steps slowly, “Why is he here Wilbur.” His voice was hard, and he sounded slightly like Dad. Wilbur pointed to the book on the table and then reached out for Techno. Tommy held him tighter, “Tommy.” 

Techno squealed, reaching for Wilbur; and Tommy let out a small sigh before handing him over. Wilbur relaxed further, pressing his face into soft braided curls. Dream stood silently before Wilbur swallowed. And handed him off. 

Tubbo’s cry of outrage was echoed by Tommy and punctuated by the sound of Netherite hitting stone. The enchantments sparked, they all turned; Wilbur’s heart jumped to his throat. The ground cracking around it the enchantments running across the ground, sparking out after a certain distance. Tubbo let go, holding his arm to his chest. Ignoring Dreaming holding  _ his  _ baby, and grabbing at Tubbo’s hand. A deep burn was left on his palm. 

And Dream’s whisper of “I knew it.” echoed in the small space, “He’s a  _ God’s vessel.”  _

\---

Wilbur patched up Tubbo’s hand, fingers careful- and familiar with the motions of healing burns. Dream was talking quietly, in what sounded like a butcher Version of the Old Language- Techno’s responses were short, and clipped compared to when Techno would babble it out to them. Dream’s face grew steadily more frustrated before Wilbur walked over and scoops a lethargic toddler from his lap. 

The green-eyed man startled, “Bedtime.” He hands Techno the sippy cup he talked Tommy through making, and glared at Dream. “You’ve gotten half an hour, now get out of my  _ sight.”  _ The demigod holds his hands up carefully and stands slowly. Techno hummed grumpily in his arms, face pressed against Wilbur’s chest, sippy cup untouched. “You don’t want to know?” 

Something in him snarls at Dream, something that makes his limbs hurt- and his mind angry. “I said get  _ out.”  _ the blond backs up, turns, and hurries off into the dark. Wilbur doesn’t relax, not this time- he sits in the chair the other left. Humming quietly to Techno who was stiff and just kept whining. “I know babe, the big man asking questions you don’t know the answers to.” There's a Probably in there and it sort of terrifies him. 

He doesn’t  _ know  _ what Dream was asking the kid, because of the language barrier. Techno grunts- letting go of the sippy cup, Wilbur grabs it before it can fall and spill. “ _ Wil _ se’nd me ba’ck?” his mind takes a second to realize what’s been said to him, Tubbo and Tommy’s silent gazes on them. He wishes for Niki for a few seconds. 

Blue eyes stare at him, and his throat tightens. “No baby,  _ Wil _ isn’t sending you back. Never.” He doesn’t understand what he’s promising the babe, but it made his eyes flicker pink and then the babe relaxed. “Tr’st _ Wil.”  _ Wilbur stared down at blue eyes and a face that looked very happy with his choice. 

\---

When the babe finally falls asleep, Wilbur’s hand will shake- he’ll shut the door softly behind him, and he’ll stare down over the railing to see Niki, Tubbo and his baby Brother curled around a campfire. 

Tommy stares up at him, face just a grim as his own- and Wilbur won’t  _ understand.  _ He’ll never understand, because Grown Techno doesn’t trust him, has spoken those words aloud to his face before.  _ “The only person I trust is myself Soot, and even then it’s touch and go.” _ Why does little Techno think he is trustworthy? 

He’s scared the babe several times in the past 3 days, by purely being himself. He’s put him in situations that could have gotten him killed already. He has scared him, and it doesn’t make any  _ sense _ .

Wilbur won’t  _ understand _ . 

Wilbur  _ doesn’t  _ understand. 

\---

Phil twitched his wings, stretching out- checking the mail like second nature and freezing at the sight of a package in the dropbox. He twitched as he grabbed it, staring at the smudged loopy handwriting on the other side. The colored paper was slightly wet, and the ink rubbed off on his thumb when he touched it. 

Holding it like it was precious, closing the lid; and heading back to the house. Brushing around, the day’s tasks are forgotten; putting the kettle on. And standing numbly in the middle of the kitchen. Grabbing a knife out of a drawer, before carefully cutting away the ties and then unusually aware of the writing. 

The book tucked under the packaging's spine is broken, and there's a note pinned to the front. His oldest son’s handwriting stared back at him, the scrawl that he spent months teaching him to do. Grabbing his cup and pouring himself a cup, before he scoops up the book softly. 

Sits down at the table, relaxes on his wings, and tugs the note free. 

_ I think this ones rather overdue  _

_ -Will  _

The first 20 or so pages are old, and he can tell from the way the edges of the page curl- the smudged pencil. They aren’t dated, which makes something in Phil twitch. Wilbur never liked dating things. Said it gave them a time to die, with a smile on his lips- and a set of letters written late at night of things he wouldn’t say. 

Phil learned years later that it was because Wilbur didn’t like  _ Change  _ he liked the things to stay the same, the days to change the same- weeks to be the same. The dates turning the pages yellow means age, and Wilbur never liked that all that much. 

They bleed off, and some of the letters are longer than others- bigger events. One cuts off midway through, and the next page or two are just simple sentences about songs he wanted to write. Somewhere the pencil switches to a pen, and the letters are longer. Happier. 

He talks of an election, of Tommy, of L’Manburg. And Phil is proud. An Anthem is scribbled into the corners of the pages. Clearly, his son was thinking more so of it than anything else, and it makes something warm in his stomach. 

He finishes it off on another, and he can almost hear the pride in his son's voice as he reads what he wrote. 

And the last mention is again of the Election. 

The back of the page is empty, and the glaring scribbles of his son's handwriting is frantic on the next one. 

_ I’m guessing you finally read everything else, I wouldn’t be surprised if you read it all first. Ever predictable Dad. If you could possibly guess, we lost the election. Not a surprise when one thinks about it right? Why build a Nation and then hand it over, Schlatt saw it as an opportunity to make a point. I get it now, I really do.  _

_ But forget that.  _

_ We’ve fucked up Dad. Badly, and I’m going to swallow my pride here. We need help. Schlatt has made us fugitives, -my great nation- I’m not a citizen of anymore. Neither is Tommy, and that almost makes it worse. He doesn’t deserve this Dad- him or Tubbo. This is My fault, and I should have bred these Consequences on my own.  _

_ But no one else sees it this way. I’m sure you don’t either for that matter.  _

_ Tommy installed help From Technoblade. Which we needed, don't get my wrong here, but well; to put it lightly. We possibly asked the wrong person for help. And no- this isn’t why I’m asking after you now, we’ll get to that.  _

_ Tubbo was our spy you see, our inside man- and he’s a kid Dad. And that Choice got him killed, he’s okay now, a bit battered. Traumatized, so no not really okay. But breathing so that makes up for it, right? God, I hope so.  _

_ But Techno you see is the one Schlatt made kill him. While Techno wasn’t a citizen any more than we were- he was invited to this festival. One that was really Tubbo designing his own execution. The Blade made many of his choices, but none will terrify me more than Watching the Hybrid rip through people that were once my friends.  _

_ The problem here is, is that not all of Techno walked back to our base. I don’t know what changed, but something did.  _

_ What I really, really need your help with Dad is that Techno walked back from mining the other day, with a potion. A potion that got smashed, a Potion that we think turned him into the 3-year-old version of himself. I just, I don’t know what to do.  _

_ I’m in the middle of a revolution Philza, and I can’t have a toddler. A toddler might I add that speaks the Old Language and broken accented English. I don’t know what to do, I don’t understand why- or how. And Dream hasn’t been much help at all.  _

_ Perhaps your love for The Old Things may just be the thing we need.  _

_ We- I, I really need your Help Dad.  _

_ Your Son,  _

_ Wilbur Soot Minecraft _

_ \--- _

Schlatt tapped his fingers along his horn, pinky to thumb, over and over- pinky to thumb. Sighing and tapping at the papers on his desk with his other hand. So many things to do, not enough hours to do them. The paperwork alone for this job was a nightmare. 

Brushing his hair out of his face and glared down at the work in front of him, Fingers sticking to the gell he ran through it, 2...3 days ago now? He doesn’t remember- his bones ached. Glancing up and looking around for Quackity, perhaps he had something that would distract him for a few minutes. Least of all his desk swallowed him whole. 

Fundy walked past his door, humming a song under his breath- the fox peaked back in. Amber's eyes focused on him. “Yo- You good Schlatt?” blinking a few times but nodding nonetheless. “Yeah. Have you seen the Ducky?” The fox shook his head, and Schlatt’s ears twitched in sympathy at the way the Foxes' ears flopped. 

“Sorry.” Waving the other away, he stands. Letting out a groan at the way his limbs cracked- stretching out his back. Shaking out his hands. Sliding his hair back when escaping strands fall into his face, running his fingers over the horns. Time to go find a Ducky to brother for several hours.

\---

Jordan held Tubbo’s letter in shaky hands, the words were sloppy and only half spelled right, but it's Tubbo. He misses his only son with his entire being, everything he owns would go to just seeing his boy again. Starting at the page in front of him, only fuels that reason. 

16 or not, this was a dumb idea-  _ Gods above. _ Fuck. 

\---

Wilbur gets next to nothing done for the next 6 days, between worrying about Everything- and watching Techno. His time is gone- days sink by like water down a drain. Not that anything matters outside Techno right now, the little one deserves all of Wilbur’s free attention. And now that he has to pay attention to his own and Technos needs a lot of time. 

Time is stupid he decides, cutting up small pieces of steak. Time has always been stupid really, a person is conducted or controlled by the amount of time they hold. It’s stupid. That days tick by, and seconds run away from you before you blink. Everything runs on a timer, and it’s stupid. 

“Tech! Snack time.” The babe drops the crudely made blocks and toddles over. Pink ears and brown and pink curls flopping with each step. Wilbur wonders how long Techno has been around to even know the old language. 

If what Dream says about him being a God’s Vessel, is true. He glances at the cracks on the floor- and Techno’s axe sitting against the wall. From what he knows- Gods used to pick champions, people to carry their power and name from place to place. To fight in their honor. 

But time must have washed away what really happened because from what Wilbur remembers from his studies, Campions lived very short lives, Chosen Prophets as well. Their clock shrunk by the greed of Dying Gods. God's people hardly remember the stories too. Wilbur places Techno in his lap, letting the kid eat at his own rate- chewing on an apple as he does. 

What defines the idea of A vessel versus a Champion? If what Dream says  _ is  _ true, that makes much of what Tech does make little sense. Because Champions tend to just wander around- pick fights and be general annoyances. At least that's what most books spoke of. 

Picking at the skin on the apple, and staring off in the distance- absently righting the wiggly hybrid. 

It wouldn’t make sense for Techno to be a Champion, perhaps a Prophet. Even then, Prophets were pacifists. They fought with words instead of fists. So that wouldn’t work. Setting his apple down, and whipping gently at Tech’s face with a towel. “Finish what you want babe- and then you can go back to playing.” 

The book Dream brought laying where Wilbur placed it, unmoved. Perhaps History got it Wrong? 

It’s not often that Historians focused on the Old Worlds, got things  _ right.  _ At least according to each other, they fought on ideals, times, gods, every little thing they could. Nothing in the Old World was ever solid. It was impossible to learn the Language outside enchantments- because of how inconsistent the language apparently was. 

Techno grumbled up at him after a while “ _ Do’wn _ Wil.” waving the thoughts away, picking him up and placing him down. Watching amused as the kid waited for him to clean up the plate, and sit down facing the small play area they all set up before going back to it. Going back to building some Tower that Tommy started. 

Tapping at the paper in front of him, feeling like nothing ever stops. The watch on his wrist only stops when the battery runs dead, and the hands twitch. He glances down at it now, it died a few days after the election. Nothing in him wants to replace the battery. The tiny ticking as it rounds around, and around the middle. Passes 12 and keeps going. 

The clock doesn’t stop and it doesn’t slow. 

The Old Worlds become older day by day, and the New Worlds don’t get any younger. 

Wilbur unlatches it, letting it slide off his wrist and connect with the wooden table with its own echoey rattle. 

One day the Old World will be the Dead Worlds, and the New Worlds will be the Old Worlds. He watches the clock on the wall tick from late morning to noon. The sound of Laughter floating down the stairs. 

_ Stuck in a loop determined by the Sun. _

_ \--- _

Dream pulls up the back scarf around his neck, covering his mouth and nose. Before clasping the straps of his mask around the back of his head. Humming happily with it in place. A list of things to do, and people to greet. On his mind.

Pogtopia’s problem, and worlds of knowledge he has yet to understand. 

Pulling up the hood of his hoodie, and staring down at the list. 

The name,  **Philza Minecraft** stares up at him

\---

Wilbur misses his Piano, which is odd- he hasn’t played in since he left home and he doubts he’ll remember how anyway. But he misses the old thing, the one that had ruins scrapped into the sides, one that Dad would sometimes sit hours at and just play the same 6 stanzas over and over again. 

The same 6, over and over- each time the tempo would be changed. And Dad’s face never moved from an impossibly old gaze. He would have many stories to tell for nights after, ones they had never heard yet. 

He wishes for his piano because sitting with a guitar doesn’t have the same feeling as Sitting Fundy in his lap and playing out a few keys. To smile mutely as the babe tries to mimic the noise. 

Techno regards his Guitar as something Sacred and won’t touch it. Though the babe does babble with a V-word for the longest time, tiny fingers are sometimes held in a position that almost mocks A violin and then looks to Wilbur like he’ll understand. He doesn’t but there are few things the kid can do that make sense. 

The pout he sometimes gets when he just ruffles the kid’s curls makes him wish to understand what he’s asking for. He can’t figure it out, and even if the kid was asking for a Violin, no one in the Country even owns one. Not one that Techno could  _ even use.  _ So instead he’s stuck with his guitar and no Piano. 

Tommy has a small jukebox set up in the main area, it's rather useless when all his disks are tucked away in the depths of his Enderchest. But it serves its purpose when Tubbo convinces him to dig them out. 

Techno hasn’t expressed much interest in anything other than the things they give him, and dirt. But Wilbur pegs that as something else, the kid treats it as a gift sometimes. Tiny fingers dug into the ground, and muddy hands after Niki takes care of the potatoes. 

There could be nothing better than it some days when time drags on uselessly- and sucks down on everything. On days when Tubbo will lay prone in bed, and Tommy will sit quietly on the floor next to it and just talk. On days Niki stands in the makeshift kitchen and makes baked good after baked good- until she burns her hands, and tears run down her face. On days that Tommy doesn’t speak, angry enough that words don’t compute, and he seethes for hours. 

On days ideas of ruining L’manburg, blowing it to hell populate Wilbur’s mind- everything he worked to build, everything he’s done. To rip and tear like a child who hasn’t gotten his way. To pull it apart, to watch it crumble between his hands. 

On those days, Muddy hands- and piggy giggles are more than any of them could ever hope for. 

Wilbur hums a low waltz to himself, holding Techno in his arms and he walks himself through the steps- Techno’s eyes were bright, small hands placed on Wilbur’s cheeks. And it was easy to just remember all the steps, to hum and move. More to music only he could really hear, and it was nice, despite the rocks that scattered across the floor with each of his movements. 

He knows they must look a little stupid, with the way he moves around; and Techno’s wide fascinated eyes. It wasn’t teaching, and it was more of Wilbur attempting to remember more steps than he was capable of. But the babe seemed to be happy so it didn’t matter how stupid they may look. 

One final spin has Techno giggling, slim fingers yanking softly on Wilbur’s curls. “Tech, what did I say about pulling?” Blue eyes stared at him, pink ears flopping as he ducked his head slightly. “Can hold- No P’ull. Hu’rts.” Wilbur smiles at him, “Yes! Good Job Piglet.” 

Techno’s small giggle and he didn’t pull on his hair again. Wilbur pressed a sloppy dramatic kiss to his cheek. Wiggling his now freehand against the boy's ribs. The shrieky giggles echoed through the open space, bouncing off the walls; and Wilbur dug his fingers in. “NO! Wil! StoP!  _ Wil!”  _

Blowing a raspberry, and burying his face into the babe’s neck. Hardly holding back his own laughs at the squeal he lets out, blowing against soft skin. “Wil! NO!” “Wil, Yes Techno! How could I not! Just so Ticklish.”    


Tiny hands pushed at his face, “No! No!” Wilbur pulled back, halting his onslaught for just a second. Blowing his hair out his face, Techno glared up at him, a pout fully formed on his lips. “No, Wil! No Mo’e.” he raises his eyebrows at the babe, whose tusks stick out ever so slightly. 

“You sure?” The toddle nods furiously, curls bouncing and ears flapping slightly. “100%? No more?” Techno blows air at him, “No Mo’e!” Wilbur holds up his hand, smiling down at the toddler. Who repeats the sentence, just to make sure his point is across. Wilbur sets him down, and Techno stares up at him for a moment. Before he sticks his tongue out. 

Hooves clattering on the stone floors as it takes a minute for what he just did to process. “Tech! Who taught you that? Get your little pink tail over here!” The responding giggles are loud, and not a hint of fear in them. Something warm and soft settles over him as he goes hunting for a wild piglin hybrid. 

\---

It’s been almost 3 weeks since Techno was turned into Toddler Techno, they were no closer to an answer. But Baby giggles were sweet, and it was becoming normal to walk into Pogtopia to Techno’s laughter. The icy air that settled over the place was long gone, leaving just warmth and a real start to a rebellion. 

Wilbur rocked back and forth on his feet, holding a sleeping Techno in his arms while he worked. Flicking through page after page, there wasn’t much planning left to do anymore. Now it was a waiting game- to see what Fundy and Quackity bring them in a few days.

The steps that come from behind the second entrance makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Glancing around, Dream’s mask staring at him- “I know you said not to come back. But I think you’ll like this reason.” Wilbur tightened his grip on Techno, the baby mumbling in his sleep. 

Phil comes out around him, an indescribable look on his face. And Wilbur’s head spins, “ _ Dad.” _

Dream quietly excuses himself, and it’s just them. They just stare at each other for a long moment, and his grip on Techno loosens. The babe grumbling unhappily, “ _ Will _ , God Will.” He feels frozen on the spot, as his Dad drops his bag on the floor. Wings spread as wide as they can in the small space. 

Wilbur let his Dad curl around him, pressed his face into his shoulder- wishing to curl his own arms around him. Wings blocking out the world, and everything slips away. Grabbing Phil’s shirt with his free hand, and letting tears slide down his cheeks. 

The deep rumble of the dragon under his Father’s skin made his mind calm, even when he pulled away. His hands cupping his face softly, Wilbur blinked the rest of the tears from his eyes. Pale Blue eyes glanced down at the babe sleeping in his arms. A finger nosed softly at his cheek, and there's something undeniably soft in his father’s face. 

Techno grumbles, dark blue eyes cracking open slightly- he growls slightly- exposing Tusks for just a few seconds. Before Wilbur watches Dad brush pink and brown hair away from his small face. A content mumble and the eyes flutter shut again. “He’s so  _ small.”  _ Wilbur’s lip twitches, adjusting his grip again, glancing up at Phil. 

“We have a lot to talk about.” There’s something in the way he looks back up at him, blinking a few times- the purple edges creeping in fading away. A grim look crosses his Father’s face, and something heavy settles in his stomach. Pale Blue eyes stare at him for a while, that ageless gaze practically staring through him. 

Wings drop, and Wilbur wishes for easier days. 

\---

At some point they migrate to Wilbur’s room, Techno ends up tucked into Phil’s hands. Pressed securely against his Father’s chest, and it’s simple to just smile, watch Dad brush curls out of his face, and he runs his fingers carefully over the single scar that marked the expanse of the babe’s face. 

Something deep in Wilbur relaxes, it was like when Fundy was first tucked into the man in front of his arms. To watch as the dragon that lived under his skin purr in satisfaction, eyes flicker Purple and swirl with pale blue. It was familiar to nights filled with childish nightmares and fears of thunder. Of two boys and nights spent climbing into a dragon’s bed. 

He leans against the freezing wall behind him and watches quietly. Ignores the words they need to speak about in favor of a child Wilbur’s mind has claimed at his own, and a Dragon Hybrid inspects the babe with soft curiosity. It was almost as easy as breathing to hand Techno over to be held by this man. 

Phil looks up at him, eyes a steady purple; looking years older than  _ Willam  _ knows his father is. “Work of a De-ageing Potion. A good one too, it’ll take maybe a few  _ hours- could be weeks  _ to reverse. Aging is such a difficult craft. Ones people shouldn’t dabble in.” Dad’s eyes are purely on him, but the fingers ghosting the baby's scar are frozen just over his nose. Wilbur nods, he knows very little about potions these days, knows the movements for a few by heart simply out of necessity, then love for the skill. 

“He is an old being Wilbur, or at least his soul feels old. Even now- under clots of fake age. He feels  _ old, _ ” Wilbur stares, confused at what Phil was getting at, frowning deeply. “Old… old and  _ broken.”  _ Those eyes that normally are warm, are glassy, foggy enough that Wilbur moves with panic under his skin. Purple eyes shed tears, though his face doesn’t reflect what is in his eyes. There's a tremor in his hands. 

His father’s wings dipping down, sad in a way Wilbur hasn’t seen. 

Phil hums low in his throat, an old Dragon purr. One that has panic fleeing his mind, and his grip on his father’s arms loosening. Techno mimics the noise in his sleep, pressed against Philza’s chest. Tiny hands clutching at his coat. “What can I do to help  _ fix  _ this Dad?” 

The hybrid looks at him for a long moment. “Dream mentioned a ruins book he gave you? I want you to  _ burn  _ it.” 

\---

Wilbur watched the book go up in flames, Phil’s unshakable form next to him. Techno tucked into the playpen to nap for the foreseeable future. It was the satisfied puff for the hybrid next to him as the last of the pages went up in smoke. “Nasty old ruin books.” The words were gruffer and more Dragon than Human. “Sick magic. Old-  _ hateful.”  _ Wilbur stared after the form of his father as the man dragged a few potions stands from his bags. 

The world was far more confusing these days than it had ever been. 

It was something else to watch the man shake out blond hair as he attempted to get control over himself. Pale blue eyes held shut for a long while before he quietly asked after Wilbur’s help. They set up in a small corner, and the edges of a pit burn in his mind. A list is pressed into his hands. 

Mushrooms 

Netherwart 

Melon 

Gold 

A few things Wilbur hadn’t heard of before. Things that were scratched out, “I have those already, it's why it took me so long to get here. I had a suspicion what potion it was.” He nods, smiling at his Father, “I think Tubbo and Niki have a few of the rest of these locked away somewhere.” 

He glances over at Techno, not wanting to wander off to find the two. “He’ll be okay for a few minutes.” Wilbur rubs at his hands stuffing the list in his pocket, ignoring the jittery feeling; grabbing his sword. Absently snatches up Techno’s axe on the way up the stairs. 

Wilbur feels weird to not have Techno to look for every few seconds, even with him under Phil’s watchful eye, there's something nasty in his stomach that never happened with Fundy. He trudges onwards to the edges of Manburg when he was Tommy and Tubbo tower hopping with Enderpearls. 

Clearly, no one was paying much attention to the two with the late hour, but soon they’d be noticed. At least by  _ someone _ . Wilbur frowns, scanning the nightlife for Niki trying to stock up on food. Or just her stealing a few things from open windows, because it's easier than risk getting recognized. 

He doesn’t catch a glimpse of her, and he pulls out his communicator, ducking between trees to stay out of sight. 

WilburSoot:

Get the Fuck down.

TommyInnit: 

YOU BITCH

TommyInnit: 

We’re just having Fun

WilburSoot:

Dad’s here, Get down.

WilburSoot:

Someone is going to see you, and then we are Fucked. Get down.

WilburSoot: 

Thomas Innit Minecraft- I swear to the Gods, both of you need to get down  _ now.  _

TommyInnit: 

Dads really here? 

Wilbur sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. Staring down at the screen with unease, glancing back around, both Tubbo and Tommy have vanished from the tops of the towers. The trees move and the sounds of the town settle into sleep. Voices carrying. 

His nerves are on fire the longer he can’t see the two teens. 

WilburSoot: 

Yes, where did you go?

TommyInnit: 

Down- Like you said dickhead. 

TommyInnit: 

Heading back to Pog- we came in with Niki. 

WilburSoot: 

I don’t see her, she probably already headed back. 

WilburSoot: 

Meet me at the port. 

TommyInnit: 

Fine

Sighing to himself, shoving his communicator in his pocket. Why he picked a location that he has to walk through Manburg he has no idea. Moving as silently between buildings, and ignoring the glow Techno’s axe gives off. The deep purple reflecting off any surface no matter what it was. 

Swallowing deep in his chest as he passed by a large lit window. 

“Hi there Wilbur.” chills race up his spine, he freezes at the opening- he grabs at the edge of Techno’s axe. Fingers curling around the base. Twisting around. 

Schlatt’s stood with a cup in his hands, eyebrow raised- lips twitching up into a smile. “I will say it was rather entertaining to watch Tommy and Tubbo bounce between Towers.  _ Childish _ .” Wilbur swallows, lifting his chin. Pleased with the height difference. He stares impassively at the Ram Hybrid. The way the man's face is relaxed there's no malice in his body language. It sets Wilbur on  _ fire. _

The rams ears twitch, a smile pulling at his face- it's terribly soft, and it reminds Wilbur of a simpler time. Of half-jokes, and dumb games. It seems Schlatt has the same thought, “Reminds me of Softer edged versions of us, Huh  _ Wilby.”  _ The name edges off in teasing, and the deep brown almost red eyes that stare at him aren’t staring through him for the first time in years. 

Wilbur glances over his shoulder at the port in view, Tommy and Tubbo’s figures standing there. He looks at Schlatt and lets some anger melt away, “Yeah- young and dumb.” he lets go of his axe handle. Hands falling to his sides. Schlatt makes a puffing sound that Wilbur learned to recognize as laughter at a young age. 

“Get out of my Country Soot.” He blinks at him, taking a half step back- he was going to take this dismissal for what it was. He swings on his heel, skin prickling the sounds of his feet the only noise.  “Swing by and Invade my office some time. Young and Dumb sounds  _ fun.”  _

And perhaps it's a hybrid thing, for how Schlatt turns his attention down the street and vanishes beneath flickering lights like he was never there in the first place. 

\---

Wilbur helps Tubbo fairy potion ingredients between his room and the area Phil has commandeered for the time being. Techno had yet to wake up, despite the noise all of them were making, and it being a little past the time the kid would normally wake himself up. Wilbur was both happy and a little nervous about that. 

His half conversation with Schlatt settles under his skin uncomfortably, it makes him itch. Blowing air out of his mouth, and forcing a smile onto his face as he rounds the corner. Tommy sat pressed against the table they shoved into the corner. Phil was listening to him talk, there wasn’t much of a direction of the words. 

And Wilbur gets it- it's odd speaking to their father. For a man who they haven’t seen in 2 years in Tommy’s case. And almost 5 in Wilbur’s. It makes him ache for things he cannot have. Shoving hair out of his face, running his hands down the book Dad was using. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, dragging his eyes across the table for a knife. 

One gets pressed into his hands, Phil steadying The conversation, and plowing forward with how the farmhouse was. Talks about how the old Barn cat had died a few months prior, Tommy goes quiet with the news. “She had that group of kittens a few months before I left… How are they?” Phil’s lips twitch, and Wilbur hacks at the spider eyes. “Gave most of them off in the village. Kept one, just been calling her Kitten. She’s managed to be both a Housecat and barn cat. Little Cretin.” 

Tommy doesn’t say much after that, it’s easy to shuffle years together. Wilbur remembers vaguely of a dog Phil had when he was growing up. A scar on his nose, and a soft heart. He doesn’t remember what happened to him when he died. But to the cat that had been there almost all  _ 16  _ years of Tommy’s life in that old farmhouse. To be dead. 

His hate for the passage of time swells in his throat. 

Techno sturs, the sleepy grumbles finally rising from his sleep. Wilbur passes his knife to Tubbo who has finished moving a few more things. “Ask Tommy for help about the Book.” before washing his hands in the cauldron, and moving to scoop up the hybrid. Techno growled at him slightly at the movement but settled down. 

Grabbing a few chunks of bread with his free hand, Phil’s voice filling the expanse, as Niki helped him make something for Techno to eat. The baby hardly paid any attention to Phil, more focused on what Wilbur had in his hands. “ _ Wil _ .” His voice was edging on whiny, it was tired. Perhaps he should have woken him sooner, Techno so far had always been one to just mumble away sleepily after dinner. 

“I know Babe, just a second.” Handing Techno the sippy cup, the design had finished flaking off, leaving just the pink behind. Pressing his head back against Wilbur’s chest, making a small happy grunt. Sighing at playcating the babe, for now, he could feel Phil’s eyes on him. 

Tonight was going to be a long one, and it rests in his bones. 

\---

By the time day rolled around, Wilbur was exhausted, but the potion was finished. The clear substance sitting innocently enough in the jar. Despite the problems its counterpart caused. He glances at Phil who is measuring out the last ingredient of the potion. “I do hope you know I’m not leaving after this.” Wilbur startles, staring down at him. There is something in his voice that doesn’t sit right with him. 

“I’m not leaving you and Tommy here. If I leave I take you both with me. And I really would hate to do that.” Pale blues glance up at him, as he dumps the mixture of powder into the jar, slowly stirring it. He taps at Wilbur’s cheek, “You both have unfinished business here, and the Farm isn’t going anywhere. You  _ both  _ are far more important to me than the upkeep of some silly old house.” Wilbur wants to bite back at him, and that  _ house  _ does matter.

It  _ Home  _ in ways nothing else will ever be. 

The potion turns pale pink, it cracks slightly and then the liquid settles. Dad caps it and presses it into his hands. “Alright.” Wilbur stares at it, and then upstairs to where Techno is sleeping in Tubbo and Tommy’s room. “Yeah- okay Dad.” His voice cracks on the end and his hands shake. 

The dragon rumbles lightly, pulling his close. “Big Techno  _ Will  _ remember bits of this. And I’ve never met him, perhaps there's something more to the famed warrior.” Wilbur knows there is, for the scar on his face. Baby Techno’s strength in his trust in Wilbur, when Wilbur doesn’t even trust himself. When Grown Techno is a ghost coming and going, with blood staining a blade. Techno is everything his stories say he isn’t.

\---

Techno groans, his body aches, and his hands burn. Mind emptying with thoughts that don’t belong to him and thoughts that do. Trying to sort through it is like trying to empty a bucket of lava without burning your hands. Fucking  _ Impossible _ . He shoves himself to his elbows and hisses at the pain in his arm. 

What the hell did he  _ do?  _

It's the Tall one’s eyes that greet him when he looks up, brown watery and edging on heartbroken. Pushing his hands through his hair as he sits up and freezing as things he doesn’t remember doing fill his head, covering the smoke that is words that don’t belong to him. 

Happy giggles, and a piece of a childhood that doesn’t belong. Of kind hands, and soft words. Laughter and nights tucked against a warm chest. Techno blinks, of a man he called “ _ Wil.” _ The tall one is waiting, and he says nothing. There's the crackle of the fire in his ears, and his hair chopped unevenly on the back of his neck. 

“Welcome back Techno, did no one teach you not to take things from strange witches?” The words are warmer than he’s heard from the man in front of him. At least ever directed at him, and there's a softer edge to them. The Piglin in him registers  _ pack  _ before the human can fumble around with the actual words spoken. 

He blinks up at him, catching his reflection in the man's glasses; he looks terrible and it's a commitment to how he feels. At least it's  _ consistent _ . 

There's an echo of a cave in his ears, one that is not warm- one that has cold green eyes staring at him. One that has bloody hands, and bruised fingers. He glances down at his hands and curses his own upkeep. Mouth twitching for English words, “Uh- No? Not that I remember.” they slip past. And his mind tumbles. 

Wilbur- because his name is  _ Wilbur,  _ snorts holding out a set of clothes. “Come on, get changed and I’ll explain.” 

Techno watches him leave and waits until his feet go quiet to start shaking. Dropping the clothes and curling his hands into his hair. Hands twisting at the strands. Taking a minute to let the dull ache finished tethering his mind to his body. To sort through memories that do not belong to him, and ones that do. 

Shifting the blanket off his legs and going about shoving a shirt that absolutely was not his over his head. It was  _ soft _ , and the sleeves were too long. The pants were his, the bottoms stained and high waisted. With gold buttons, he replaced the silver ones with. 

The gold buttons cooled something in his stomach, his hooves connected with the floor- and the clack makes his brain spin, where are his boots? His hair hangs in a shitty imitation of curtains and his hands hurt. The door creaks when he opens it and it sets his nerves on fire.

_ They know you’re coming.  _

Techno shoves it down and glances subconsciously around for Wilbur- feeling small and young without the added 5 inches of his boots. Any fidget he makes sends a spark of pain down his arms, and through his slowly numbing fingers. The bandage on his arm sticks, and he desperately wants it off. 

He thumbs at his chipped tusk in an attempt at a stim that doesn’t hurt, mind vibrating with so many things that belong to  _ himself  _ and not anyone else. The stairs are long and the voices below are quiet. Techno knows his hooves are making far more noise than he ever wants them to on this stupid floor. 

His mind established Wilbur as safe despite the fact that Techno doesn’t trust a single person in this cave to actually have his back. Despite that, he wants Wilbur, wants to hide behind him, and understand what the actual  _ Hell  _ is going on. He hisses when he steadies himself on the wall, stone cutting into damaged palms, there's blood sliding down his fingers and his wrist. The only panic at the slight is that it's going to dirty the sweater he’s wearing. He shoves the sleeve up and the blood drips onto the stairs. 

It’s a mix of both fascinating and terrifying, it always will be. “ _ Tech. _ ” The voice is soft and a pair of hands curl around his wrist, coating their own hand in blood and engulfing his small wrist. He glances up, Wilbur’s face stares at him. He lets him tug him along, despite the fact his touch feels like fire. He wants to yank his wrist away, his fingers twitch. 

Wilbur sits him down next to the fire, it rises in his ears, and noise that doesn’t exist fills his head. He can’t hear anything being said to him anymore, he resists the urge to shove his hands into the flames. Techno pressed his hands under his thighs, holding down the growl in his throat at the pain. Maybe he broke a few, he can’t  _ remember.  _

Techno stares at the fire and tries to get whatever semblance of his mind back under control. He wants to hear the crackling of the fire and wants to listen to people speak. He scans the room, There's a man he doesn’t recognize, along with The girl- he thinks her name is  _ Niki-  _ he doesn’t know, The loud one and his friend are nowhere to be seen. It eases something in his stomach, he doesn’t have to talk to anyone. 

He glances over as Wilbur slides back into his view, his mouth is moving- and Techno’s brain is still too loud for him to shift through everything to even hear him. There's a frown on his face, and something cold settles into his skin. (He’s always cold) hands cup his face, and he bites down the snarl that climbs his throat. 

Brown eyes are glued to his own, he blinks a few times, desperately trying to understand what’s being said to him. His mouth is moving and Techno craves the comfort of words that make sense. Of things that aren’t lost in the mix of days and years. Of a person who tried to live under his skin.

Hands move to where he’s trapped his own, pulling them out- holding them softly in his palms. He pours healing potion over them, and he watches as they scab over before they turn the color of fresh scars, he knows that if he were to run his fingers over them they would be rough and easy to tear off in frustration. 

Techno watches mutely thoughts filtering, leaving his mind muddy and incomplete. Like walking through a swamp. But eventually however muted Wilbur’s voice wanders through, he’s talking about proper care of blisters. Something that Techno  _ knows  _ he does remember that much, his hands have never been this bad before. He’s always sought after some kind of care, the piglin in him demands it of his someday.

It flees him on the days he needs it most. 

“You can’t let them pop like this, the skin will tear and it's basically an open wound. It’s why I make Tommy and Tubbo, for that matter, rewrap the leather on their swords at least once a month.” He looks up there’s a lost look in his eyes, and Techno can’t help the small grumble he makes. It’s low in his chest, and it’s unfamiliar to himself. 

Wilbur’s lips lift, “You hear me now?” Techno nods. The other smile is larger, but not quite happy. There's an edge Techno doesn’t understand. He works his jaw, Wilbur carefully finishes wrapping his hands up. “You are a lot shorter than you appear to be.” He blinks at him, and the laugh escapes his lips before he can stop it. “5’7 is perfectly normal.” He argues back without thinking, “You are just ridiculously  _ tall.”  _ Wilbur’s laugh is rewarding in its own way, and the noise that doesn’t belong to him fades away. Leaving the crackle of the fire, and the puffing laughter of a man he does not recognize and a man that his brain establishes as  _ Pack _ . 

And it’s  _ nice.  _

\---

Techno tends to move things away, push problems around with a metaphorical stick if one pleases; but when Wilbur starts in on taking Potions from strange people. He knows he can’t kick around this one. “The potion you were caring around, turned you into maybe a 4-year-old.” Techno stares at him, and his mind tumbles farther away from him. There are things he remembers from his childhood quite vividly, and things that slip away before he can figure them out. 

He swallows and twists his fingers, only for Wilbur to glare at him and pull them away from each other. There’s an energy under his skin that burns. “A scar on my face?” he waves at it now, and perhaps it doesn’t do the trick because of the old burns and marks that populate it. Wilbur nods and hesitates before he reaches out and ghosts his finger along the largest and cleanest one. The one he’s talking about. “3, I'd have been 3 then.” 

The man hovering in the back makes a noise that has his ears pinning themselves to the sides of his head. His teeth-baring without his permission, both men stare at him. He can’t help the heavy flush that rises to his cheeks, even with the anger and smidge of fear under his skin. The blond apologizes twice, and Techno just stares at him. It’s been a long time since he’s seen a living Dragon hybrid. 

Wilbur smells like him, and he notices the claim now more than ever. Any other Hybrid the urge to take, and to show that Wilbur was his  _ pack  _ would bubble under his skin. Snarl uncontrollably until it lit a fire in him that caused many casualties. Now the piglin wants to put space between him and Wilbur because Wilbur cannot be both  _ hatchling  _ and  _ pack.  _

Techno pulls his hands close to his chest and breathes through his nose, sorting things out in his mind again. Tugging at his ear, and wishing for longer hair. No hand corrects him this time on his stim, and his mind calms completely. Noise whispered at the edges, but nothing loud enough made him want to kill himself just for a few moments of painful peace while he respawns. 

He twitches and shuffles back a small bit. Wanting space. “Do you know?” And if it's not a loaded question because of course, Techno knows who made it. The same man haunted his living days while he still breathed. And sure he can’t remember his name anymore after years of attempting to bury it with him. 

But the word Dad is burned into his mind as a reminder of hate for the rest of his life. 

Techno looks away, “My Father wasn’t a nice person.” The resounding silence speaks volumes to people who have never expected the words to leave his mouth. It makes his mind bubble with things that make his own skin crawl. “He’s been dead for a long while, and I don’t particularly wish to speak of the  _ dead _ .” it's a lie, he just doesn’t want to speak of his father, nor his mother. For the rest of his days. They died, and he wants them to stay that way. 

They got what they deserved in the end. A disgrace of a son turned into a hollow man who was sentenced to worship a blood god. Who was dead. Who climbed under his skin once upon a time, and tried to make it his home. Of a Dead God, who did more harm than good. Left Techno to stumble through life with more blood lust then real thoughts, and of memories that were not his own. 

Wilbur reached for his face again, and Techno leaned into the hands this time- let his eyes flutter close and sit. He works his jaw, ignoring the urge to let out mumbles of content. The dragon sits next to him, and there's the rattle of wings. He pulls his head out of Wilbur’s hands and turns to look at him. 

The dragon's eyes are purple, and he finds himself subconscious of his own as the pink brightens. They regard each other for a long while, “Phil.” The words are softer than Techno expected, and he just stares at him a long while. Techno wants to duck his head, and vanish into the stones beneath him. 

Techno swallows refuses to look away. A hand touches his shoulder, and he resists the urge to slap it away, Phil just keeps looking at him, and Techno doesn’t get it. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. You  _ feel  _ older. But physically” The purple bleeds away enough that icy pale blue eyes are staring at him. And while Techno hates the color- they are rather calming. He twitches, hands wiggling on his thighs. Drumming out a small uneven pattern. 

He shrugs, his age is something he likes to keep tucked close to his chest- doesn’t like broadcasting he’s hardly older than Tubbo is. 19 isn’t all that old in the scheme of things, especially when the remnants of a Dead God living under his skin. Both of them just continue to look at him, and Wilbur takes his hand. Shoving up the sleeve and exposing 3-day old gauze. 

His eyebrows furrow and Techno doesn’t quite understand everything going on here. “I’ve been out of commission for 5 weeks?” Brown eyes glance up at him, and the other’s lips twitch. “About, we’ve held up- Though I think everyone’s going to miss having you around.” And Techno wants to ask why they even bothered to change him back in the first place. None of this makes sense. 

He jerks his arm suddenly when Wilbur pulls the bandages away from the Wound stuck to it with dried blood. The human, the one that’s been fighting every day of his life- screams in him, to get away, get out- no safe. Hurts. And the Piglin crumbles enough that his hands visibly shake, the pink glint in Wilbur’s glasses vanish, the Piglin squeals. The noise erupts from his throat, and Wilbur is full of apologies. 

Chasing after his hand, and Techno snarls fully at him. The Dragon beside him lets out his own noise, but it was more soothing than angry. He doesn’t like this, because Wilbur is acting like he understands Techno better then  _ Techno  _ does, and this Dragon Hybrid is treating him like an unruly pup. And He gets that he’s been a baby for almost 2 months, but he doesn’t  _ know  _ where what’s real and what's not begins and ends. 

He nips at the hand that catches too close to his face, and Wilbur’s face screws up, pulling his hands back. Phil was moved a little out of the way, but not far enough that Techno’s brain doesn’t stop seeing him as a threat. “ _ Technoblade.”  _ Eyes flash red, and the reflection glints over Wilbur’s glasses and the potions bottle on the table. 

A hand closes around the back of his neck, Phil’s scent fills his nose, the Dragon shoves him and bullies him into laying on his back. He snarls at him, shoving at the wings that block everything around out. Noise floods his head, he grabs at the limbs holding him. “ _ Let Go! Le-”  _ A deep rumble knocks every thought in his head away, the Dragon Hybrid smoothing him with his weight. Settling down on his legs and upper body. 

Pale blue eyes peer down at him, and Techno’s breath hitches. His arm stings and his hands are  _ still  _ numb. And none of this makes any damn  _ sense.  _ “You’re okay Pup, it’s  _ alright” _ Techno doesn’t feel like it’s alright, his brain is a mess, and nothing wants to stay put. Has it always been this bad? Has he always been this scattered? 

He misses Pete, misses his laugh, and his loose understanding of what's Right and Wrong. Misses his voice, and how he’d talk even when Techno wouldn’t. 

A growl bubbles in his throat, and tears pool in his eyes. “Get off  _ me. _ ” Phil rumbles in response and Techno doesn’t understand, he doesn’t and everything is messy. And he hurts. He wants  _ Wilbur  _ and he doesn’t know  _ why _ . He lets out a low whine, tears dripping down his cheeks and a pair of hands are running through his hair, soft, foreign, he half snarls and half grumbles. 

The dragon’s weight on him settles back a little, and the blond is rubbing a hand across his uninjured arm, blue eyes staring softly down at him and Techno craves  _ pack.  _ His teeth nash together, and he shifts uncomfortably. Blinking tears out of his eyes and hands slowly clear them away. “I’m sorry for Scaring you. I didn’t realize my presence would bother the Piglin under your skin that much.” Phil’s voice is more Dragon than human, and it makes his itch. 

Wilbur’s voice is soft, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” It’s a lie- everyone means to hurt someone, no matter what. Techno shakes his head, closes his eyes, and swallows the sob that was building in his throat. 

\---

Techno settles in to just cry for a long while, lets Wilbur wiggle his arm free, and a new pair of hands brush his hair out of his face, Smaller, softly- the fingers are scared on the edge. Baker- He mouths around something, and the Dragon just rumbles constantly. It quiets his mind enough that he tries to sort through his thoughts. Pull the Blood Gods from his, and understand where his memories began again. He ignores voices above him, they make for good background noise. 

For just a second, Techno relaxes, he runs out of tears eventually. He feels keyed up and confused. But better, less scattered, he reminds himself of things that are his, slowly adding items to the list. Things that belong to him more than the dead god under his skin. 

He likes the color blue; it’s soft- and it reminds him of Arctic walls. 

Days getting confused with nights is because of the Piglin- not because his brain is too shattered to remember. 

Pete is his-  _ Pack,  _ safe. And he misses him. 

Wilbur is not his, but the dragons- but the dragon feels like his. 

The noise does  _ not  _ belong to him- it’s the remnants of Dead Gods. 

The stories belong to him. Hours curled up in libraries- they belong to him as much as they belong to their books. 

The loud one's name is  _ Tommy _ , and his Smaller friend's Name is  _ Tubbo _ . 

The baker is  _ Niki _ , and he liked her cookies. 

The Fox that is both Not Wilbur’s pack, and is- his name is  _ Fundy _ . 

The duck is scared of him, white wings- softer.  _ Quackity.  _

Techno mumbles words- old words, words the god demanded he learned first- The dragon eases off him after a while. He knows he smells like  _ hatchling  _ now, and the Piglin settles. A piece of bread is pressed into his hands, and a few golden nuggets are set softly in his lep. He blinks up at Wilbur’s face and his muted smile. Techno grumbles softly at him. 

Wilbur sits next to him, and Techno leans over against him. Mind made up, Wilbur was  _ Pack  _ whether the dragon liked it or not. A hand pays with the curls at the back of his neck, and he lets out a content sigh. 

Grabbing at the edges of Wilbur’s shirt, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth. His eyes flutter close- his brain says trust. So maybe falling asleep here wouldn’t hurt. A small laugh comes from his pillow and he grumbles unhappily at it. “Get some sleep Piglet We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Darkness claims him much soften than it has in  _ years.  _


	2. Missing Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not an actual chapter, but it is content that wasn't in the first chapter. that will go in later when Chapter 2 is finished. Which should be Soon, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, this is simply to get this more traction so when I Actually put the second chapter it gets more hits or some shit? or people actually know what it is since I updated the Summary, and I'm not even sure if this will fuck up when I actually update it. I don't know. But! 
> 
> I mentioned a few times to a few people in the comments about missing scenes! Which is what this is....  
> I will be putting these in the first chapter when I'm done with the second chapter, it's about 11k words right now, and it's really angsty. much hurt. To all of those who said this wasn't as angsty as you thought it was going to be. I'm laughing at you. Loudly, I have plans to attempt to make people cry, and If you've read anything else I've written. Well. I am capable. 
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy these both angsty and Fluffy Missing sections. Until I can provide actual content. (This was also my first time Writing Tubbo and I feel like I did terribly so...)

**Missing Scene: Dadza with Baby Techno-**

Phil pulled off his coat, stretching out his arms and with wings in one motion. Eye flittering over the where Wilbur’s just ran off too, and to the baby tucked in a blanket. The Dragon shifted under his skin; his wings twitched. Mind both mumbling Hatchling and danger. The danger part was awkward and settled under his skin uncomfortably. 

Sighing lightly before brushing his hair from his face, dropping his hat on the table, and sorting through his potion supplies, carefully setting the already crushed or cut items on the table, running his fingers over the edge of the bowls. After a while, a small grunt drew his attention, Blue eyes peering at him from under pink and brown fringe. 

They kept glancing around a bit wildly; Phil’s heart breaks a little bit; Wilbur was nowhere to be seen, and it was just Phil. He wouldn’t blame the kid if he started crying. Crossing the room and dropping into a crouch in front of the baby. Steadying himself on the low fence, they put up. He smiles softly at him. Techno stares at him for a long while. Eyes glancing around behind him. 

A tiny growl slipped past the babe’s lips, and the Dragon under his skin scattered, Mumbling Hatchling over and over. “Hello there.” The blue eyes stare impassively at him, a spark of fear behind them. If anything, the little guy was far too smart for his age with him impossibly terrifying his blank look was. 

The babe grunted, eyes never moving from Phil’s face now; there was a twitchy fidget with the babe’s fingers. Phil wanted to hold him, but he has a feeling he’ll get bitten for his efforts. “ _ Wil,”  _ Phil rumbled softly in response, shaking his head softly. He swallows, and his wings twitch. “Wil is getting Tommy and Tubbo. He’s not here.” blue eyes watch him before the babe sits down. 

Phil blinks. A hand curled around one of his fingers. “ _ Wil. _ ” his tone was imploring and a little panicked on the end. He shakes his head, watching as small pink-tinged fingers tightened their hold. Blue eyes welled up with tears, and Phil’s heart cracked. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he was almost entirely silent, except for the occasional hiccup. Phil made up his mind, carefully scooping him up into his arms. Tiny hands curl around the edge of his shirt. 

He cooed softly, rocking softly from side to side; blue eyes stared up at him. But his quiet sobs turned into soft sniffles; Phil cooed again, rumbling deep in his chest, and watching as blue eyes grew wide before he grumbled back his muted version. 

“Well, look at you!” He spun around, spreading his wings above his head. The tiny Hybrid let out a quiet squeak, reaching for the black leathery wings. He moved them slightly forwards. 

Tiny pink ears twitched, Phil’s wings twitched on their own when fingers very carefully brushed against them. His bottom lip still wobbles, but he’s distracted. Tears were painting his cheeks; he carefully thumbed them off, rumbling again as the babe melted against his hand. 

Phil walked them around the table a bit, shifting his hold, and the piglet hesitantly snuggled into his shoulder. Biting his lip and pressing his nose into pink and brown curls. That was escaping a loose Dutch braid. 

The dragon itched pleaded under his skin; the Babe smelled like Wilbur, and by default, like Phil. The small hint of a dragon's claim under the scent of a very young Piglin. There was something else. It smelled of books and ice. 

There was a human claim under there, and Phil didn’t quite understand where it came from. 

It wasn’t his Boy’s, and it wasn’t Dream. Dream smelled like fire and something else. 

Phil puffed air out of his nose before pressing back into pink curls. Mind a mumble of Hatchling, and hardly anything else. Techno had curled his legs around his waist as much as he could, and his face was buried into his neck. 

Tiny puffs of air on his neck, and the feeling of short eyelashes blinking sluggishly.

He rumbled softly, rocking from side to side; wings splayed curls half around him, in what he knows is a protective manner. Pressing a kiss to the small babe’s temple, and he stood rocking from side to side until he fell back to sleep. 

\---

**Missing scene: Niki and Baby Techno-**

Niki smiled softly to herself as Wilbur brushed curls out of Techno’s face for the 3rd time in the past five minutes. She finished pressing the last batch of cookies to the pan, sliding them carefully on the rack. 

She stands and brushes flour off her jeans, chuckling as Wilbur murmurs his thoughts as blue eyes stare at him. Pink curls falling into his eyes, and Niki laughed loudly as Wilbur attempted to push it back again, tiny fingers trying to assist. Brown eyes lift to stare accusingly at her; Techno doesn’t follow his gaze, the baby more attempting to keep his hair out of his face. 

“Just let me braid it. He’ll sit still for long enough.” Wilbur rolls his eyes, huffing good-naturedly at her, before Carefully holding out the small baby; Techno’s hands go instantly for her hair like they do when anyone gets a hold of them. Unlike when he was placed in Dream’s hands, the baby’s blue eyes never held any warmth than just fear.

She tapped on the baby’s slightly upturned nose and watched him giggle brightly. His one free hand, not full of blonde hair, curled around the gold ring on her finger. He held on to it but didn’t more to take it, and Niki praised him softly. Pressing a kiss to his head. “Let’s see if we can get these curls under control.” 

\---

**Missing Scene: Captain “Jordan” Sparklez-**

**“Jordan held Tubbo’s letter in shaky hands, the words were sloppy, and only half spelled right, but it's Tubbo. He misses his only son with his entire being; everything he owns would go to just seeing his boy again. Starting at the page in front of him only fuels that reason.**

**16 or not, this was a dumb idea- Gods above. Fuck.”**

Jordan pressed his hands against his forehead, shakily staring down at the poorly written letter in front of him. A mass of misspelled words and two completely different handwritings.  _ Tommy and Tubbo.  _ He ached for his Son and his friend’s laughter to rattle in the house, for Phil’s tired yet fond gaze every time he came to pick up Tommy at 2 am. 

He hasn’t seen his boys  _ because, at the end of the day, Tommy is his too:  _ in almost a year now. It aches, and it burns under his skin. And with what happened to Tubbo, Jordan wants to get them, wants to stop for just a second, and get his son. 

The ink on the paper was smudged from the time he burst into tears, reading it, and his face was still wet. Swallowing thickly and scrubbing what was left of them off his face with the back of his hand, he carefully folded the letter back up and smiled thinly. 

Trudging up the stairs and into Tubbo’s room, the teen’s Bee plush was still laying where he left it on his bed. And his closet was still wide open from where Tubbo had started pulling clothes out, and there were a few shirts still abandoned on the floor that Jordan never got around to picking up. He wanders over to the desk, a textbook and a half-finished paper laid there. Placing the letter down and gently closing the book, sliding the Essay in between the pages. 

He sets it aside and slides into his son’s chair. 

It needs to be replaced, but Tubbo was in love with the old thing, and Jordan had planned to at least get it repaired for the Teen’s 17th birthday, but now as he stares out the small window. He doesn’t think it’s going to happen. He grabs a loose piece of paper and carefully grabs a dark green pen from the cup holder. 

He taps it a few times on the corner of the page and stares as his mind runs blank at the sight of the lines. What the hell does he say? He understands the underlining of Tubbo asking him not to get involved but to at least respond. And Jordan understands that Tubbo can take care of himself. He’s  _ his  _ son, after all, but he’s also a kid. 

He very carefully loops out  _ Bee  _ at the top of the page and then sets the pen back down. 

\---

**Missing Scene: Tubbo and the Blue Cat plushie-**

Tubbo glanced into the storefront before darting around back; the large trash can was staged a few feet from the back door, and he knows for a fact that the Shop keeper tends to leave the “damaged” toys in a box next to it instead of in it. 

He rounded the corner and crouched down next to it. A few paints chipped dart guns, one or two missing a small piece of the usual artwork on the sides—a Rubber sword with slightly wrong coloring. And at the bottom, a blue plush cat, missing a single eye, and with the stitched on mouth half missing. Tubbo grinned, scooping the stuffed animal up with a weird set of gentleness, clutching it to his chest as he peeked out around the corner of the shop- in a dead run to the next alley, circling around and making his way about to Pogtopia. 

Tucking the blue cat plush into his bag, and climbing down the stairs to his and Tommy’s shared room. Pulling the cat out and laying it on his bed before digging through their closet for both a button and some string. There was hardly any left from when Tommy had sat and repaired clothes for 30 minutes out of rage. 

He stares at the amount of Ripped fabric sitting at the bottom of the bucket. 

Tubbo sighed and shoved his hair out of his face before glancing at the cat, and walking over to the door. 

He knew that Niki was in, maybe she had some leftover buttons. 

Tapping softly on her door, and smiling crookedly at her when she cracked it open slightly. Her brown eyes lighting up, and she reaches up to ruffle his hair. “Hey Tubbo!” he ducked away from her hand, bouncing on his toes. “Hi Niki, I was wondering if you had any buttons? Tommy used all of ours fixing my shirt.” Her expression dropped slightly, that night was engraved in all their minds as a really  _ bad  _ day. 

She opens the door the rest of the way, her sewing supplies all laid out already, a few sets of smaller clothes half put together. “I know Fundy is going to get some clothes out of Wilbur’s place, but A few extras until then won’t hurt.” Tubbo nodded, as she handed him the box of buttons “Baby’s are messy.” Her laughter is bright and he grins at her. 

“Toddlers especially.” He digs around for a little, grabbing a set of dyed black string, and then mumbles out a quiet noise of victory at the sight of a small pink button. “Perfect! Thank you so much, Niki!” Her dyed hair dropped into her face, and he noticed when she noticed the color. Her eyebrows furrow. “Did Tommy rip one of Wilbur’s old sweaters?” Tubbo flushes, hiding behind his hair. 

He rolls the button between his fingers, “Uh no? I grabbed a blue plush cat from the  _ broke  _ toystore box, and it’s missing an eye… I thought Tech might like it.” His face feels hot at the way her face visibly brightens. “I didn’t think of that! I’m sure he will Tubs!” 

\---

Tubbo plops down on his bed and gets to work repairing the cat. He fixes the nose with ease, probably a little to easy, before rolling the button between his fingers. 

A few bloody fingers later, and the pink button was secure on the cat's face. Tommy sitting now on the bed opposite, trying to patch a new hole in his shirt. He peeks his head out of the door ready to greet Wilbur and shows off the gift he has for Techno when his heart jumped into his throat. 

Dream stood slightly behind him. He dropped the toy and grabbed his sword. “Tommy.” The blue eyes of his friend greeted him, “ _ Dream.”  _

\---

Tubbo stared down at the toy he left on the floor, before scooping it up, glancing around for Wilbur. The tall man was carrying a very sleepy looking Techno to his room. “Wilbur! Wait.” Tired brown eyes turn to his sharply, Tubbo holds up the cat slightly. 

He walks over and carefully comes to a stop before holding it out slightly shakily to the Baby. Who stares wide-eyed at the cat, Tubbo watches as the Piglin pup glance up at Wilbur, who had his own set of wide eyes. “You can take it, babe, He got it for you.” 

Tiny fingers curl around the plush cat and Tubbo gently guides it into his arms. 

Wilbur presses his hand against the back of Tubbo’s head, and Tubbo feels like he’s staring up at his Dad for a few seconds. “Thank you,  _ Toby.”  _ Tubbo smiles brightly at him, before darting back to his and Tommy’s room. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far. I'll let you know I still hate this.  
> Also, I have better and shorter Fic Ideas for the future, many that include Twins Wilbur and Techno- and a shit ton of Angst.  
> (War Crimes should get an update for those who know what that is, Childhood time!!!) 
> 
> This was supposed to be in Techno's POV and Then I was like Ghostbur makes me sad. So Wilbur hours.  
> Also, Did I make up a whole ass lore/language just because I didn't want to write dialog for a Toddler? Maybe- you'll never know. 
> 
> um- Feedback is welcome, I'll attempt to respond to as many comments as possible! And I hope this was as good as any of you assumed it would be.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
